The Lion Wakes
by Curiositatis
Summary: When the Abyssal invasions made it clear that they ruled the seas, the Royal Navy was among the few services to lash out with all their might, only to be beaten back into a deep dormancy. But now, the ships of the Royal Navy are needed more than ever, and they are more than willing to reclaim their dominance. Part of the Operation Eclipse series.
1. A Matter Over Tea

A single bowstring twanged three times in quick succession, and a speedy little trio of navy-blue arrows whistled off to their targets. The fine whistle became a low drone, followed by a heavy rumble and a little splash as the blue Swordfish dropped their loads.

An eruption of water broke the calm waters, shattering the calm sounds of the undisturbed sea. Another explosion followed, then another, then another. In a high soaring arc the sodden remains of the unfortunate practice dummy flew into the air and smartly landed at the feet of a most remarkable girl.

The girl was dressed in a soft white sleeveless tunic with a thin red cross emblazoned on it. The tunic reached down to her thighs, where she wore pure black stockings covered by finely wrought steel greaves that shone in the misty sun; she wielded a great ash longbow that stood nearly twice her height, and carried a simple leather quiver on her leg that held a mixture of navy-blue and mottled brown arrows. On her arm a long grey flight deck shield was strapped, studded with thin spikes of antennae. There was no cap or hat to adorn her short amber hair, save for a single white-gold hairpin.

Her name was Ark Royal.

Lowering her longbow, she studied the remains of the dummy, prodding it around with her sandalled feet. The soaked dummy squelched and oozed seawater onto the pier under her foot. Satisfied with the damage done she drew another arrow from her hip quiver and notched it. In a fluid motion she drew the bow with all her might – aiming into the sky she let it fly. It soared into the sky, disappearing into the light mist.

Ark Royal lowered her bow and squinted at the sky. As she concentrated she sensed a little movement behind her, and diverting her attention away from the flight of her fighters she saw the graceful form of the battleship Queen Elizabeth strolling towards her.

Befitting her name and relation the Queen Elizabeth was dressed in a light, regal crinoline dress that extended all the way to her feet. Unlike her namesake however, she bore a brace of four twin turrets that hung in pairs below her hips. Her solid gold tiara was outfitted with various antennae and unlike the other younger battleships one could see the faint lines of age etched on her face.

Ark Royal came swiftly to attention and saluted, which Queen Elizabeth acknowledged with a little curtsey.

"Milady, what brings you here? Not bad news, I hope." Ark Royal slung her bow over her shoulder, standing at ease as the stately battleship stepped forward.

"Oh no, my dear, I was merely going to observe until you had finished. But it seems you were a bit quick for me," Queen Elizabeth replied. She looked straight at Ark Royal, smiling serenely.

"Was I, milady?" Ark Royal replied tentatively. She was curious as to what the old battleship had in mind.

"Not as much as you would think, dear," Elizabeth, being as old as she was, was affectionately known as the fairy godmother of the fleet. Her mannerisms helped cement that image. "But I would ask you now, dear Ark, are you done right now?"

Ark Royal relaxed, the kindly tone soothing her anxiety. "Yes, milady."

"Good. I would like to talk to you about some issues of a more… sensitive nature. Would you care to join me for afternoon tea today?"

Ark Royal started, astonished by the invitation. She had never been to a private tea break with a battleship, let alone with one of the most venerable of the fleet. "I… I don't know what to say, milady," she managed.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. It'll be just you, me and another guest who I've also asked to come. We'll have it in my private garden," she added, but then paused as Ark Royal gave another little start. She sensed her discomfort at the idea. "I understand you're a little surprised at this request, and I feel you must know that you are not obliged in any way-"

"No, no, milady, it's just that... it's a bit strange to me," Ark Royal interrupted, her voice trailing away.

Elizabeth laughed softly. "I'm sure you will be fine," she repeated to the nervous carrier before her. She turned to leave. "Four o'clock, my garden, dear."

Ark fidgeted nervously, waiting for the arrival of the host. She sat in an exquisite iron latticework chair, one of three around an equally exquisite table – all around her flowers and plants of every hue were arranged in neat beds, each colour to its own. A few aged and tall trees and hedges lined the perimeter, giving some natural cover against any prying eyes.

On the dot at four Queen Elizabeth stepped out of the humble two-storey tile-roofed cottage that she lived in, accompanied by the white-haired Dido in a maid's dress bearing an amber-transparent teapot and delicate bone-china teacups.

Ark Royal hastily stood and saluted and Elizabeth acknowledged it with a curt nod. The two sat down while Dido set down the teapot and cups. She poured out three cups with professional precision, bowed and then retreated.

The old battleship took her cup without delay and sipped – Ark did the same, her eyes watching Elizabeth closely, while Elizabeth concentrated only on the drink. There was a marked tension in the air, and neither of them sat at ease. But for two different reasons entirely.

Both of them set down their cups with a painless tinkle – while Queen Elizabeth savoured the tea Ark Royal was too anxious to notice, perhaps a little overly so.

"A splendid blend, don't you think?" Queen Elizabeth observed airily, her words cutting through the ice cleanly.

"Ah, really? I've never had much…" Ark was going to voice her ignorance on tea, but her nerve failed as Elizabeth's leafy-green eyes bored into her. Instead she hurriedly took another sip of her tea. It was fruity, with a layer of sweet apple and a drop of lemon, but it felt dry down her throat.

Luckily for her Queen Elizabeth seemed not to notice – her attention shifted to the man who now strode towards the little party, the chest of his white jacket positively shining with medals. He walked with a confident step, taking on the air of a man who was in full control of every aspect of his life. Three gold rings were sewn into the cuff of his jacket, and the visor of his peaked cap gleamed in the bright afternoon sun.

Both Ark Royal and Queen Elizabeth rose, Ark recognizing the man instantly. Numb with anxiety she shakily saluted as Vice Admiral Holles, commander of the very fleet Ark belonged to, approached. He casually threw up his own, and when the hands came down all of them were seated.

"Ah, tea!" Holles immediately raised his cup and drank with a little gusto. "Don't know what I'd do without it. Ah, that's better!" Setting down the now-half-empty cup with a loud clatter he drew himself in, settling comfortably in his chair.

"I am glad, sir, you could join us today," Queen Elizabeth began, as Dido approached again, this time bringing sandwiches and cake. As the cruiser-maid retreated, Holles leaned in and took one quickly. A flicker of annoyance crossed Queen Elizabeth's face, but she continued. "As requested, I brought Ark Royal with me today."

As requested? Ark Royal repeated in her mind. So this was what this tea break was for!

Holles finished the sandwich quickly. "Ah yes, Ark Royal, so glad to see you today. Of course," with a hurried wipe with a napkin he brushed his face clean of crumbs, "you are probably wondering why I have sent for you in such a roundabout manner. Let me cut to the thick of it. The answer is simple." Holles cleared his throat and leaned forward, hands clasped.

"We're sending you to the Far East."

For a moment the words didn't sink in with Ark Royal. Far East? What the hell, Admiral? Ark had only seen service in the Atlantic and Mediterranean – but the Pacific? The idea had never crossed her mind. She glanced quickly at Queen Elizabeth, but the battleship's face was neutral, unassuming. Then she looked back at Holles, who seemed almost nonchalant about the fact.

"I know this must be quite the shock to you. Nevertheless it is the decision of the Admiralty and it is in our mutual interest that the orders are carried out." Holles's voice was stern now, full of authority. "This mission is of the utmost urgency and we feel," he continued, looking straight at Ark Royal, "that you are best suited for this task."

Ark Royal was bewildered. "I-I see, Admiral…." She stammered. Then a damning question struck her. "Sir," she asked, "why exactly have I been chosen?"

"We feel it is time to increase our presence in the Pacific," said Holles vaguely, "the Admiralty no longer feels that our holdings in Asia are adequately defended. Thus we have come to this decision."

Ark Royal scoffed to herself on hearing this. Inadequately defended? Bollocks. Yet as her inner voices conflicted with each other, a single, oddly happy thought came up - it would be a perfect opportunity to see the world. In an instant the little voices of dissent were quelled and quietened; now she faced Holles with a new resolve.

Holles surveyed the girl as she struggled to come to terms with the task. At last she looked at him, and he could see that her mind was set. At last she nodded – and with that confirmation he hastily conveyed the rest of the details.

"Of course, you won't be going alone – right now a list is being drawn up of candidates for this posting. You will be notified of the final selection when it is complete. Once preparations are complete, you will all be briefed on the operation."

"And when will that be, sir?" Ark asked.

"Two weeks from now."

Ark sat back and pondered for a bit.

"Who will take over as flagship of Third Battle Carrier Squadron while I'm away?" she asked.

"We've yet to decide on that," Queen Elizabeth answered, before Holles could open his mouth, "but I think the general consensus would not mind Illustrious taking over when you leave."

Another issue assuaged. There were more questions coming from all sides – operational details, plans, and preparation talk – as the meal winded down. Soon the plates were empty and the teapot drained, and the sun lingered just over the horizon. The little party dispersed, each making their own way to their own homes.

There was laughter and merriment on the village roads, in the cottages and in the many commons that dotted the landscape. The night settled slowly, as if the many ship-girls that lived in the villages around the base wished its prolonging. Even if the world outside were to be shaken up by the deeds the Royal Navy were soon to commit, here remained one place in the world that would remain much the same. This Ark Royal knew, and she was emboldened by the fact as she prepared herself for the task ahead.


	2. A Farewell Party

Casual chatter mingled with the tinkle of glasses as the large group on Holles' lawn gathered and waited for the admiral to walk in and give his speech.

Ark Royal stood in the middle of this throng, wearing her normal battledress. She looked out at all the other girls gathered around her and beamed at them all.

There was the battleship Warspite, in her old captain's embroidered jacket and straw-coloured hair, talking earnestly with that veteran of the Pacific, the battleship King George V (or Georgie as she was nicknamed), dressed in the usual officers' shirt, jacket and skirt. She smiled and chuckled at Warspite's profanities, while the light cruisers Penelope and Sirius blushed in their midst.

At another table the sailor suit-clad destroyer sisters Charity, Cheviot and Childers stood tying up each other's hair, trying to spruce themselves up before the Vice-Admiral's appearance. Behind them the heavy cruisers Norfolk and Berwick chatted themselves up to the reluctant carrier Victorious (another veteran of the Pacific). They were asking for love advice and Victorious, Ark observed, kept her mouth shut as they advanced ever more closely.

Thankfully the sound of a door opening and shutting brought their pleas to a grinding halt. Victorious, relieved, moved towards Ark.

"Thank goodness he's here," Victorious whispered to her, chancing a quick peek behind at the two conspiring cruisers. "I thought I would have had to bring the bow out, but in the end I guess my position is safe… for now."

Ark giggled, but promptly quietened as Vice-Admiral Hollers made his way up to the little podium.

"HO!" As quickly as Warspite rapped out the order the entire party came to attention.

"At ease." Holles cleared his throat as the girls rested, but they all remained alert. The fair-haired admiral came to a stop at the very edge of the platform. "I thank you all for coming today. I am sure that each of you has prepared yourselves for this task."

A murmur of confidence swept through the little crowd. Holles drew breath and continued. "Fifteen years ago, we were at the pinnacle of our global power. But as you all know, the appearance of the alien fleets we know as the Abyssals came up and wrested that control away from us. It was a brutal, savage war and we came away worse for wear."

"Today, however, that will change. We who stand here today are on the edge of a new age in history. This mission will test you in ways you have never thought possible. As I look upon you all now, I can feel nothing but pride for what you are all about to accomplish."

A few of the younger girls blushed at these words, but Ark and the rest of the more senior girls held their emotions at bay.

"I ask each and every one of you to support each other in times of need and strife. I ask that when the time comes in your journey, you will rise to the challenge for whatever adversary that stands in your way."

Holles's voice broke as he regarded the mass of beaming ship-girls before him. "I have every faith that you will succeed in this endeavour. Good luck, and Godspeed." As Holles stepped off the podium the girls cheered as one as their commander walked down towards them. He shook hands with the battleships and ruffled the destroyers' hair, and from standing a little way away Ark could see tears, real human tears trickling down his face.

* * *

While bitter and orange squash flowed freely in the special mess near the docks that night, Ark sat outside, gazing up at the starry expanse above.

"So there you are!" Ark turned and saw Georgie striding towards her, with two glasses of squash in hand. She wore her usual outfit of shirt, tie, navy jacket and skirt, but her fine grey hair was tousled and she smelt of cheap beer. "Been looking all over the mess for you. Here," she handed one of the glasses to the reclining carrier.

"Thanks." As Ark took the glass Georgie settled down beside her, letting her lissom legs dangle off the edge of the pier.

"So, all ready for tomorrow?" Georgie asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be. Just waiting on supplies from HQ depot, and we'll be off at the appointed time tomorrow." Ark sighed, and took a long drink. "How are things with Warspite?"

"Lousy. The destroyers are learning more swears than I thought possible. They'll be cussing like the rest of us when we're off." Georgie flung her head back and breathed in the night air. "I'll miss this place."

"You too?" Ark had been sad to realize that the mission would not be a short one. The journey ahead of the fleet was fraught with dangers, and she was certain that not all of them would live to see Blighty again.

"Yeah. I don't know how Anson and Howe will get along without me, but I guess that'll figure itself out while I'm gone." The handsome battleship edged closer to Ark. "I'm a little afraid about what's going to happen…"

"Why? You've been there, you've done it all, what are you afraid of?"

"You've never seen the Pacific, Ark, but I have. A great expanse of blue twice as large as the Atlantic, and believe me, the sheer size of it is frightening. We've had stiff opposition here, who knows how strong the alien fleets over there are by now?"

Ark thought about it for a moment. There was a grain of truth in what Georgie was saying, and now she considered the facts. The Pacific was indeed an opponent to be feared in its own right – how many had perished in its tyranny of distance?

"But that's enough of that talk. We'll deal with it comes, eh?" She raised her glass to the sky. "To our success!"

"Yes, I suppose." Ark raised her own glass and they downed their glasses in one. They threw their glasses into the sea with a neat splash, stood and stretched.

"Ah, that did the trick," Georgie sighed. "Hope I can sleep tonight, all that beer's been keeping me up lately."

Ark giggled. "How many times has Rodney drunk you under the table so far?" she asked.

"God, I don't know!" Georgie pinched Ark's cheek, gritting her teeth. "That old battlewagon's been calling me up every other night for the pub and I can't refuse, since she's the one paying for it…"

"And how has dear Yorkie been taking it?"

"She puts up with it! She never complains about me coming back late and stinking of bitter." Georgie smiled at the thought of her sister, Duke of York. "Sometimes, I think we were made for each other…"

"A match made in heaven, so to speak?"

"Tell me about it… Come on, let's get back to the mess." Ark linked arms with Georgie and they walked back to the mess hut.


	3. A Bother and Battle

The tarp-covered truck rumbled down the country road, past fields of newly-sown wheat. It made for the coast road and turned quickly from dirt onto asphalt. As the truck gathered speed again Ark looked out from her seat at the rearmost of the truck. Black tarmac cut into fresh green grass, which ran for several hundred more yards in undulating little hills until it cut abruptly into blue sky.

_The White Cliffs_, Ark idly thought to herself. The truck, driven by a corporal of the Royal Marines, thundered down the road. The rolling green, sparse hills gave way to the tended pastures of the coastal farmers, all dotted with the brown and monochrome coats of grazing cattle.

The truck bumped and jostled the occupants of the lorry's rear, who grin and bore it with as much humour as they could. All eleven of Ark's fleet sat on the wooden benches, all in their combat uniforms – a motley collection of officer's uniforms for the battleships and carriers, while the cruisers and destroyers wore school uniforms of various designs, such as Cheviot's tie, blazer and dress and Berwick's navy gymslip and tartan skirt.

At last, the truck rolled into the outskirts of Dover. Even with the threat of Abyssal raids the port's citizens had endured the danger, and the streets thronged with ordinary men, women and children as they went about their daily business. Ark waved to a few children playing in the street, and they chased the truck for a while. It was all perfectly normal.

They drove past the main square, full of old widows and veterans erecting stalls and colourful fairings in preparation for the Sunday market, past the piers littered with ancient-looking anglers forever waiting for bites, until they came to a security checkpoint guarded by a road barrier and two sentries.

The soldiers waved the truck on, and one even waved to Ark, who smiled decorously back. They rumbled down the road a little further until they reached the sprawling main base. The truck pulled up at the fine manor house that was the administrative block and the girls descended.

* * *

Holles was in a bad mood. Aides stood nervously to one side as the vice admiral paced the map, shooting the board little darting looks as he contemplated the situation.

Four red blocks lined the channel. Red meant the enemy. Four enemy fleets stood in the way of the mission.

As Holles kneaded his skull with his knuckles, Ark strode into the room, followed by Warspite and

Georgie. Holles looked up and forced a smile as they approached.

"Ark, so glad to see you." Holles shook hands with the lithe carrier. "Good to see you've all arrived safely."

"Sir, what's going on?" Ark glanced at the map board.

"A spot of bother. The Abyssals have gotten wind of our plans, so it seems. We're all a little stumped on what to do here-"

"Sir!" One of the aides held up a phone receiver. "From London, important call from HQ."

"Oh, speak of the devil!" Holles looked at the three girls. "Just a moment, girls, this won't take long."

Holles picked up the receiver, while Ark, Warspite and Georgie milled around the table. "Holles speaking."

The voice from HQ was cold and rasping. "Holles, I've just read your missive on the enemy blockade. You recommended an immediate break-out, correct?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct." Holles knew that cold voice well. It belonged to the formidable Admiral Holderness, Commander-in-Chief of the Home Fleet.

"Well, Holles, you're in luck. Lord Callan just spoke to the French in Calais – they've agreed to co-operate. 4th Combined Squadron and 21st Destroyer Flotilla is en route to support, arrive at 1930 hrs. This will be a combined British-French operation."

"Understood, sir." The French! Holles groaned inwardly. What could the French possibly do to help?

"The French will begin their engagement at 2000 hrs. Do whatever it takes to break through. Do you understand, Holles?"

"Understood, sir." With an assenting grunt the line clicked off. Before Holles could draw breath, the phone rang again. He picked it up again. "Holles speaking."

"Vice-Admiral Holles?" This time a gruff Parisian accent came over the line. "This is Vice-Admiral Andrassy of the Normandy Fleet, Offensive Operations. I've been instructed to send a detachment to clear the blockade. Is this correct?"

"Yes, Andrassy, quite correct." Holles had dealt with the French in Calais a few times before, chiefly on the negotiation of escorts for merchant shipping in the Channel. This, however, was very different.

"I see! Well," The French admiral hummed a little bit, clearly in thought. "Ah! Recon photos! Just in time. Let me see… four fleets, yes, we know that, made up of… what's this? Three without air cover? No wonder!"

"Andrassy, what is it?" Holles enquired.

"Aha, yes. Oh, sorry about that, monsieur. It looks like this operation will be easier than expected," Andrassy cleared his throat noisily. "Only one of the enemy fleets has air cover."

"What!" Despite the bulk of the enemy force, an Abyssal fleet without air cover was easy pickings. And due to the close proximity of the fleets to the coast the RAF and French Air Force squadrons could pick them off with impunity. "This means-"

"Yes, yes, yes!" There was a clatter on the other end as the excited French admiral put down the phone. Holles could distantly hear rapid-fire French on the other end, and the shuffling and clacking of shoes told of hurried movements and activity. At last Andrassy picked the receiver up again. "Excuse me, monsieur."

"I assume you've just scrambled your squadrons?" Holles asked.

"There isn't a moment to lose! I'll call you back when they've finished. Then you can send your boys in." Before he could respond, the Frenchman cut off the call.

Holles spun around to Ark and the rest. "Ark," he began, and the carrier could hear the excitement vibrating in his usually-calm tone. "Gather your units, and prepare for deployment immediately. The French have begun their attack."

* * *

As predicted by Holles, and as Ark and the rest of the British Asia Expeditionary Fleet hit the water and sailed west, the French aerial attack was a disaster. Confusion amongst the pilots about their destination led to a tangle on the take-off, which scattered the squadrons fatally. As they approached their targets Abyssal fighters pounced on them out of the low cloud as they were climbing to combat height and decimated them; heavy ground fire from the massed fleets picked off the low-level stragglers. The French only managed to damage three of the southern-most fleet – a pitiful effort.

The RAF, however, had a better time of things. Out of the bases of 11 Group came squadrons of Spitfires to guard the Wellingtons and Beaufighters flying out of Cornwall, while Mosquitoes, befitting their namesake, flitted out of bases in Hampshire. Soon a buzzing 'beehive' of bombers and fighters was racing south to attack the vulnerable Abyssal fleets.

Holles was poring over the map table when the news of the raids started filtering in. Despite heavy fighting and a general 'shambles' off Portsmouth, a significant majority of the bombers broke through to the open fleets. Two destroyers and a light cruiser were sunk in the four waves of 36 bombers, with another heavy cruiser and two light cruisers damaged and driven off. The northern flank had ceased to exist.

But the bulk of the Abyssal fleet still lingered in the Channel. Holles had taken a massive gamble by sending Ark out with the combined fleet. He hoped that the disastrous French air assault would sting their pride and force them to commence their naval assault earlier, but no luck – Andrassy called up just as the RAF powered into the attack and regretfully informed him the aerial disaster would delay French naval deployment by an hour.

Oh well. That still left the 4th Combined Squadron with the 21st Destroyers. Holles lit a cigar – something he rarely did, in an effort to steel his nerves – and stared out of the window, a fine, grey ash dropping onto the blue and white map.

* * *

On the water however, Ark had a more stressful time with things. Splitting the combined fleet into their battle formations, organizing the order of battle for the upcoming confrontation, watching nervously as the swarms of RAF and Abyssal aircraft fought it out over the far horizon, she had every reason to be anxious about the battle.

As the low drone of homeward-bound aircraft lessened, Ark notched her bow with a single blue-tipped arrow. Beside her she could hear the stretching of another bowstring as Victorious did the same. The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach vanished and her mind ran clear and sharp as she let the arrow go. Heralding the opening of the battle, Warspite and Georgie's massed eighteen guns roared simultaneously in an ear-shattering blast, ranging their shots.

"East Squadron, move out!" Ark cried.


	4. Battle off Wight

Cores of water kicked up at the fleet's approach as the British girls advanced through their own clouds of cordite smoke. In true Redcoat fashion they moved in orderly lines – solid, unflinching bulwarks that absorbed hits as a whole.

King George V led the first line, flanked by the heavy cruiser Berwick and the light cruiser Penelope. Behind them Warspite led the second line, supported by the petite Sirius and the serious Norfolk. Skirting their left flank were the mobile detachment, made up of the C-class destroyers Cheviot, Childers and Charity.

Ark Royal and Victorious stayed in the rear, priming the next wave of bombers. Like the precision gunners of the Royal Artillery they launched their waves of Fairey Swordfish in time with the advance, disrupting enemy shellfire as much as possible. So exact was their aim that many an Abyssal shell flew way overhead the advancing fleet, limiting the damage done.

The battleships, of course, were not idle as well. Each near miss was responded to in kind with a barrage of high-explosive shells. Georgie, loading special smoke shells, helped by laying down a thick blanket of obscuring smoke that deterred Abyssal shellfire.

But despite all the precautions and tactics the numbers on both sides remained the same. Ark considered the situation from the safety of the rear, 'seeing' the battle from the 'eyes' of the fighter screen of Fulmars she had set up before. Eleven versus eighteen, possibly more, and no reinforcements for another hour. It was like another Trafalgar – outnumbered and possibly outgunned.

Ark hadn't launched her pre-emptive strike for nothing – the Abyssals had hardly changed positions since the earlier attack from the RAF. They were waiting for reinforcements, too, after their northern flank had been chased off the field. It was the sheer bulk of the Abyssal fleet worried her.

Off to the far port periphery she glimpsed a third group of black dots move into position where the north flank had once been – reserves, most likely. But the ships moving into defensive positions hadn't gotten there yet – in a flash Ark saw their opportunity.

"Georgie! Attack between centre and right flank!" she commanded through her radio mike.

"Roger!" With perfect precision the fleet shape changed, Georgie and Warspite moving forward while their supports fell back a little, forming an attacking wedge. The destroyers continued to screen the flanks of the wedge as it powered on at full steam towards the gap.

As Georgie laid down another smoke barrage to mask the attack, Ark watched with some concern as the southern flank began to move – possibly the only thing that could have derailed the plan. The mass of black ships turned inwards towards the smoke cloud. It wouldn't take long before they enveloped the wedge.

Willing her planes away from the main attack, Ark commanded the Swordfish into a full attack on the approaching fleet. The beehive of planes tore into the approaching Abyssal fleet, the little Swordfish torpedo bombers diving low and the Fulmars spitting cannon shells from high above. But it was still not enough – the furious aerial assault only slowed the counterattack, sinking maybe one or two (as far as she could see) and damaging the rest.

Then help came. Cheviot, Charity and Childers, seeing the dim shapes of the approaching fleet, wheeled into the attack on their own initiative.

"Come on, sisters! Attaaaaack!" Cheviot cried, and with a rousing whoop the three little girls swung into their own spirited attack on the counteroffensive. Ark watched, biting her lip as the three destroyers shot torpedoes en masse and peppered the trespassers with 4.7-inch gunfire. The Abyssal group, surprised at the ferocity of the response, fell back.

Their attacks, however, gave the time required for the wedge to complete the advance. Like black spectres the fleet emerged from the protective smoke, neatly cutting a gap between the two Abyssal fleets. The Abyssal cruisers hesitated for a split second – a fatal move. The British girls, cold-blooded in the heat of battle, did not.

An almighty blast echoed across the sea as Georgie let loose a barrage of high-explosive shells at almost point-blank range, destroying two Abyssal cruisers outright. Her first broadside was followed by Warspite's thunderous fifteen-inch guns, knocking out another two. In less than a second an Abyssal fleet had ceased to exist.

Frightened by the raw power of the British battleships, and awed by their imposing figures, the other cruisers backed away, uncertain of what to do.

Seizing the initiative, Georgie leapt forward, signalling for a general attack. "For Saint George and England! Drive them back into the depths! On!" she called. It was answered by a rousing cheer, and the fleet charged into the fray.

But before a single girl could take a step forward a massive welter of water kicked up at their very feet, one jagged shell flying forward and striking Berwick dead on – with an anguished cry the cruiser fell back, clutching her burnt face.

"Berwick! All ships, defensive positions!" Georgie rapidly skated over to the struck cruiser as the other girls closed ranks and opened up with a bombardment of their own six, eight and fifteen-inch guns firing in unison towards the approaching enemy.

"Berwick! Are you alright? Please, by God, tell me you're not hurt!" Georgie cried, catching the falling cruiser just before she fell to the ground.

"Georgie… I'm alright, just- ow!" Berwick gasped in pain as she clutched her bruised arms, unable to speak through the pain.

"You're going to be fine, Berwick, we've just got to get out of here- All ships, fall back on my position! Fall back!"

"Roger!" Slowly, and taking increasing fire, the other girls backed slowly towards Georgie, still firing through the thick columns of water that sprung up at the fall of Abyssal shells. Vicious destroyers closed in on the beleaguered girls on the right flank – they were only driven back after a furious melee.

From her position east of the main battle Ark watched with mounting concern as Georgie's force turned back and set up defensive positions, constantly giving way to the relentless Abyssal onslaught.

"Ark, we have to do something!" Victorious pleaded, and for the first time in her long career Ark was lost, unable to decide what to do. She watched on as the three destroyers who had turned back the other fleet fall back as well, retreating to the precarious safety of the defensive phalanx. The Abyssal bombardment was furious, and Georgie was doing her best to hold the line. But it wouldn't be long until the Abyssals broke through – some of the girls were already showing signs of fatigue.

Her despair was deepened when she saw the remnants of the fleet Cheviot had attacked break off and bypass the defensive line – but they did not turn around and join in the attack on Georgie's force. Sleek I-class destroyers churned up the water as they raced directly east – towards Ark and Victorious.

Ark could see them approach, and lost any will to resist or even to run as the destroyers halted, and opened the maws to fire. Even as Victorious desperately notched an arrow and aimed for the destroyers, Ark did nothing, letting her bow arm fall limply to one side, a gesture of surrender. She tensed, waiting for the searing heat of the shell blast-

One second. Two seconds. Then a blast of gunfire.

* * *

Ark waited, and waited, clenching her jaw and keeping her eyes shut, waiting for the shell to blow her back. But no heat came.

"Ark, look!" Victorious tugged at Ark's sleeve, and at last she opened her eyes.

The destroyers were gone. Where there had once been guns pointed at them there were only distant shapes of fleeing Abyssals, running headlong back into the main battle. Ark turned around, following Victorious' pointing finger.

There, on the horizon, a mass of figures stood against the blue sky. But these were tall, slim figures, and with recognizable machinery. Reinforcements! In the nick of time, too!

As the Combined Squadron approached her, she could make out the busty Vanguard, in her tartan dress and tight waistcoat, leading the squadron towards the battle. Beside Vanguard she saw the vivacious heavy cruiser London, waving at her. Ark waved back.

Two kilometres away, she could see the familiar form of the battleship Nelson, guarding the Squadron's portside, while the battlecruiser Renown guarded the starboard side. Next to Nelson the light cruiser Tiger skipped along, her eagerness literally buoying her along with rest.

Vanguard, on seeing the furious battle ahead, did not pause to talk with Ark as they passed. Instead she drew her basket-hilted sword and pointed it at the cloud of smoke. "Forward, sisters! Our brethren need us! Charge!" Fresh battle cries met her words, and the Squadron plunged into the fray. Only the light carrier Furious stopped beside Ark. Sweeping her peaked cap off her head, she gracefully saluted the two veteran carriers.

"Light carrier Furious at your command, ma'am." Ark smiled demurely at her showmanship and drew another blue-feathered arrow from her quiver.

"Well met, Furious!" Victorious responded. "You know the drill, now let's get cracking!"

As the three carriers notched new arrows into their bows, the Squadron caught up to the fleeing destroyers and smashed them – only one escaped. But they didn't stop there. Seeing Georgie's fleet in danger, Vanguard swung the Squadron into the main battle.

"Vanguard?!" Georgie cried, as they approached, "What on earth-"

"Save it for later!" Vanguard shouted, as the Squadron crashed into the enemy fleet closest at full speed – a confused melee broke out as the British girls blasted away at point-blank range and the Abyssals attempted to respond in kind.

"Ark, Victorious, can you hear me?" Georgie yelled down her radio, as Vanguard and her cohort fought like lions, shell and metal beating down on both fleets. Norfolk, Penelope, and Warspite continued to hold out, buttressing Vanguard's right flank as the Abyssals, previously taken aback by the arrival of British reinforcements, renewed their attack on Georgie's fleet.

"Loud and clear, Georgie!" Ark responded, notching another arrow into her bow.

"We've got to get Berwick and Sirius out of here, Ark, they've been knocked around a bit and I don't think they can press on. I'll send Cheviot's section along with them, just get them to safety!"

"Right!" Ark willed her bombers down on the Abyssals once more as a distraction and Georgie fired her last smoke barrage, blanketing her rear with thick, white smoke. Victorious skated forward as Cheviot, Childers and Charity broke through, helping Berwick and Sirius along. The other carrier slung both cruisers' arms on her back and sailed slowly back.

"Take them to Portsmouth, Victorious," Ark said, as Victorious passed her. "Don't worry about us, we'll mop up and be back by dinner… hopefully." Furious laughed and Victorious grinned – even Berwick managed a weak smile as Cheviot and her team passed by, screening the wounded girls. Ark watched them go for a little while, and then turned her attention back to the battle.

Vanguard, meanwhile, was bruised and oily, but flushed with battle rage. She led assault after assault on the now-defensive Abyssals, who, unlike their brethren destroyers, stood their ground and fought sullenly back, only to be pushed back by a united mass of seething British warships, fighting now like the demons the Abyssals had always feared. Swinging her sword left and right, hacking through hapless Abyssals, Vanguard broke through at last, and with a great shout of triumph convinced the Abyssals that the game was up – at least for now.

The commander of the Abyssals, watching the battle from the eyes of her screening fighters, tittered and snarled as her brethren turned tail, and as the British girls jeered them off the field. With a careless wave of her blackened, gnarled hand she signalled the retreat – and the Abyssals slunk back, slowly, menacingly, once more into the depths.

Ark lowered her ash longbow and smiled, relieved. Beside her, Furious patted her back and immediately began her post-battle checks. Ark watched as Vanguard led the girls back, cheering them on all the way, and they cheered her back.

Vanguard sheathed her sword, black with the oil-blood of the Abyssals. She reached Ark, and with a grin, pulled her into a hug. Ark, although taken aback at the sudden greeting, hugged the battleship back. Everyone else turned away and stifled their giggles.

"Good to see you, Ark," Vanguard boomed, as they released each other. "You're looking fine today, what'd you put on this time?"

Ark blushed as the fleet turned and headed for home. "Oh, you know, the usual, a bit of moisture here and there, no powder..."

"Is that all?" The lissome battleship, her clean-cut features blackened with soot, laughed. "I don't believe you, Ark. How can you possibly keep your face in that condition-?"

Ark smiled guiltily, trying to hide her secret from the inquisitive battleship. Furious thought it amazing that such a violent battle just before could be laughed off in minutes. _Must be a tradition,_ she thought.


	5. Lion Waking

No celebrations were needed when the British fleet arrived, worn but in high spirits, at the yards of Portsmouth. No prying eyes watched them as they landed and trudge into the great warehouse that was the town's makeshift naval base.

Inside, Ark and Vanguard found a small medical bay set up, with Navy doctors tending to the wounded. Berwick lay in one bunk and Norfolk in another. Both of them managed a weak smile and a feeble wave as they approached and the others walked off to the other bunks that had been placed there hastily for their arrival.

"How are you, Berwick?" Ark sat herself on the edge of the stricken cruiser's bunk. A medic crouched on the other side, swabbing the red weals and bruises with disinfectant and ointment, fully engrossed in his work.

"I'm alright, not too much to worry about..." Berwick winced as the ointment was applied. "Damned lucky to have Vanguard arrive at that moment," she sighed.

Ark looked over her shoulder at Vanguard who sat on a bunk a short distance away, chatting to Warspite and Renown. "Yes, lucky indeed." Ark murmured.

Berwick, of the sturdy County-class cruisers, was a fair-haired girl of some twenty years, who possessed a set of bright green eyes that belied a certain gentleness despite the rough and hard-won reputation of the County-class girls. Ark could only admire the resilience they had for them to withstand such a violent struggle.

Victorious came over. Ark stood to greet her and they hugged briefly, silently congratulating each other on their safe arrivals. "How's Sirius?" Ark asked.

"Fairly well roughed up. Took a couple of torpedoes dead on and got hit with plenty of small shells. Don't think she'll be able to re-join the fleet at this rate…" Victorious glanced uneasily at the heavily-bandaged Sirius a couple of bunks away, being watched attentively by a doctor and an assistant. Only by her silvery, tousled hair could Ark identify her.

"I think you might be right," Ark said slowly, looking over at the bandage-swathed cruiser lying, unmoving, on her bunk. "But who will replace her? There's no base here, at any rate-"

"Who said anything about needing a base?" Victorious smiled. "There's an old manor house a couple of miles away belonging to Home Fleet. I daresay more than a few girls take up residence there that might provide a suitable replacement."

"How do you know this?" Ark was always surprised at the extensive knowledge Victorious had of the many towns, cities and ports of Kent and the South of England, despite having (presumably) lived on the coasts of Hampshire all her life.

"It's my job to know," came the cryptic answer. Ark left it at that.

Before leaving for the manor, Ark paid a visit to the local postmaster, a rotund, jolly old man (why were all the service postmasters like that? Ark wondered) in a small, functional office on the road to Portsmouth town. There she rang up Holles and let him know she and the others were alright.

"Thank goodness there weren't any more casualties," Holles breathed, after Ark had given her report. "Damned lucky for Vanguard to show up at that moment. I guess they'll go back to their precincts after this business is sorted out."

Then Ark told him about where she was going now. "A Home Fleet manor near Portsmouth? Victorious told you about it, didn't she?" Ark knew now that Victorious was closer to the Admiral than previously thought. A juicy piece of information to know, Ark thought.

"Guess there's no other option – Ark," Holles said, a bit flustered out of attendant stresses, "I'll send a car up to take you in. Manor's called Vauxhall and belongs to Admiral Doherty – he uses it as a boarding house for some of the Channel Fleet girls. I'll file all the forms for a transfer, just ring me back up after you've picked your replacement."

* * *

The drive up to Vauxhall was a new experience for Ark. Never before had she been chauffeured to somewhere – the base had always been just the right size to be able to get anywhere on foot. The driver wasn't very talkative, either.

Portsmouth sped past as the black saloon car, snaked its way through the cluttered streets. Grimy merchants peddled their wares to passing townsfolk while children raced down the pavements, effortlessly dodging through the elderly and workmen. Ark watched out the window, fascinated, as the car passed the docks, town square, marketplace, suburbs and then out into the rolling green pastures.

The car drove down the unsealed roads with little difficulty, only the odd rock making a mockery of the inhabitants' composures. It passed more fields of pasture until they reached the beginnings of a thick hedge that ran down the length of the road and into a magnificent cast-iron gate. The driver quickly got out of it and opened it – and hopped back in to drive them up to the manor.

Ark looked with interest as the manor loomed up ahead, a large edifice of red brick and sandstone with some Gothic touches. It stood proudly on the crest of the hill, flanked by small copses of evergreens. The driver took the car up to the very doorstep, stepped out, and opened Ark's door. She stepped out, oddly conscious of the fact that a human had bowed in acquiescence to her. Quite a strange feeling.

Climbing the steps to the manor she was acutely aware of the overwhelming silence – only the gentle breezes from the sea whistled through the evergreens, but no sound came from the manor itself. Ark cautiously approached the finely-carved door.

She knocked on it, twice. No answer. Gingerly, she turned the knob and entered, only to find the entrance hall deathly quiet. She could smell an aromatic waft of fine mahogany in the air, and it comforted her.

Her steps clattered loudly in the varnished hallway, and she stopped for a moment to listen for sounds. Faint, muffled voices could be heard upstairs, and she ascended the richly carved staircase to investigate.

Ark's senses brought her to a fine door out of many in the carpeted hallway. On it a brass plaque bore the word 'Office'. _Admiral Doherty's office, _she thought. Before she could knock, however, the voices could be heard again.

"I think I heard something." A female voice. High-pitched. Concerned.

"Ah, it's nothing. I'm sure it was just one of the little ones coming back up for something. Now, where was I..?" A male voice, young and just broken. Probably Admiral Doherty.

"Yes, sir..."

Through the thick mahogany Ark could hear the rustling of clothes and the soft giggling of both the room's occupants. Ark, with a rush of daring and a desire to know, opened the door a fraction.

With some astonishment she saw another girl, slim but well-built, wearing the standard black uniform of the Wrens, seated on the lap of the Admiral. Their heads seemed awfully close together-

"Hey, hey, hey!" In an instant Admiral Doherty burst from his chair, and the other girl sprung aside, glimpsing Ark at the door. Ark swung the door open – it was no use spying any more. The slim girl stood to the side of the Admiral and tried, with as much decorum as possible, to straighten her tie and uniform.

Admiral Doherty, however, seeing Ark, simply brushed his hair back and tried to look as stern as possible. He was dressed in his black standard uniform as well, ribbon bars and all. Two gold rings on his cuff showed his rank.

"Welcome," Doherty said with as much magisterial dignity as he could muster, "to Vauxhall, Ark Royal. What is your business here today?"

"I come as ordered to by Admiral Holles of Channel Fleet East," Ark began. She could feel the resentful gaze of the other girl burning into her as she spoke. "I am here to conduct a selection of a replacement for our fleet, bound for a Pacific posting, effective immediately."

"Is that so? Well then, we haven't any time to lose then." Doherty's voice settled into a mild, ingratiating tone. "Lion, if you would gather everyone by the lawn, please-"

"Certainly, sir." Without even so much a glance at Ark, the battleship, whose existence of which the Admiralty kept under wraps for so long, strode out of the room.

"I was on the phone with Holles earlier. How's the rest of your girls after all that?" Doherty asked, looking Ark straight in the eye.

"Sirius was seriously wounded, and will be invalidated back to Kent once our refits are complete. Aside from that, no other significant injuries."

"Good to hear, good to hear," Doherty mused. The young Admiral sidled out of his desk and walked towards the door. "I think Lion's just about done gathering everyone. If you'd follow me..."

The small group of girls waited uneasily on the expansive lawn, kept under control by the watchful gaze of Lion, leader of the Lion-class battleships. Called into existence by the Admiralty using the techniques learnt under the Farne-Holderness Project, Lion and her sisters represented the pinnacle of British naval engineering.

Designed as a challenge to the dominance in battleship design of the Americans and Japanese, Lion carried the largest and most modern guns in the British arsenal, sixteen-inch Mark II triples capable of blasting a two-thousand pound shell at just less than forty thousand yards. Combined with rigorous Royal Navy training and conditioning, the Admiralty had built themselves a class more than capable of sweeping the Home waters clear of Abyssals.

But despite the best efforts of their instructors and coaches the Lion girls had developed their own personalities, entirely independent of anything the Lords had expected, or wanted – Lion had a strong will but was relatively soft off duty, and was considered naïve by some veterans. Temeriare was extravagant and weak emotionally, which led to a series of scandals that the Admiralty had a hard time suppressing from the press.

Thus it was so that they remained on the reserve list, hidden away as adjutants to Home Fleet admirals along the southern coast.

A murmur grew among the crowd as Ark appeared, with the Admiral trailing slightly behind. Lion glanced at the carrier briefly, then snapped back and rapped out a perfunctory order. Ten shoes of varying designs clattered together as the girls stood to attention and immediately fell silent.

Lion turned once again to Ark and the Admiral, saluted, was saluted back, then about-faced and trotted off to the side. The Admiral took his place in the command position, with Ark a little way behind to the right.

"Open order!" The Admiral called.

The front rank took two steps forward and crashed to an uneven halt. The Admiral turned to Ark and gestured slightly – together they strode across the ranks, and Ark examined each girl carefully.

There was Zulu, a destroyer whose wild hair and even wilder methods befitted her namesake. The venerable Arethusa stood next, solid as any, despite her age; Ramillies was next, a weary-faced veteran of the very first battles, and a member of the reliable Revenge-class battleships; then Swiftsure, the redoubtable cruiser whose name belied her grace on the battlefield; then Fiji, another cruiser, and of dark complexion and cheerful disposition.

Next row – Ark's expression did not change as she passed the light carrier Argus, mature, worldly and possessing a certain twinkle in her eye that intrigued the stranger. Ark's face remained the same as she passed two more destroyers of the L-class, petite but stern like the older ones, unchanged again as she crossed the lanky Erebus, one of the rare few monitors still in existence, and finally finished with a slight frown as she continued on by the stalwart Shropshire, a sister of Berwick and a stunning brunette.

Ark and the Admiral walked back to the front, a few cursory comments were made in relation to the purpose of the inspection, and Ark capped things off by ordering a dismiss. The squad turned, executing the familiar ritual with practised ease.

The girls filtered back into the house, and Ark watched them leave. Ramillies chatted with Erebus and Shropshire, leading the line ascending the carved stone steps. The destroyers followed, then the cruisers, then finally Argus bringing up the rear. Lion stayed on the lawn, arms crossed and slightly red in the face.

"Well, then, Ark, what do you think?" The Admiral asked. "A fine turn-out, if I might say so myself. My girls are ready for anything, all you have to do is say the name-"

"I'll need a bit of time to think about it." Ark pondered over the choices, reliving the inspection in her mind.

"How about we go up to the office?" The Admiral suggested. "I have some fine Ceylon tea that a dear friend of mine sent over via India, I daresay you'll be able to mull it over that…."

* * *

Strained silence prevailed in the plush office as Ark Royal, Lion, and Admiral Doherty sat and drank tea, no-one making a sound besides their breaths and the gentle sipping of tea.

Lion was still embarrassed over the earlier intrusion, shooting Ark darting little glances as if daring her to speak about it. Her relationship with the handsome Admiral might be broken if word of it were to be spread – and so she remained anxious, crossing and uncrossing her legs constantly and continuing to glance frequently at Ark, biting her lip until it swelled up red.

Ark remained blissfully unaware of the anxiety she was causing and continued the flick through the operational dossiers, studying each girl in the fleet closely, infrequently gulping down her tea. Not even noticing the malevolent glances Lion was shooting at her, she continued to analyse the candidates against the existing fleet.

In the midst of this tension Admiral Doherty sat in the middle, trying his best to keep a cheerful face on as he watched with some distress as Lion grew steadily more pent-up, but he knew she would not rage as others did – he knew his girls well, and with Lion even more so, through some of their more intimate moments together. She was a sweet, doting, but sometimes obsessive girl, not known for outbursts, despite her ferocious namesake.

Ark carried on sipping and reading, paying no notice of the other two. The Admiral took this opportunity to silently edge towards Lion, and to lay a reassuring hand over hers. Lion looked at the Admiral, and smiled – he smiled back, and squeezed her hand.

Ark reached the end of the dossiers, and closed it with a snap. In an instant the Admiral withdrew his hand and tried to look aloof, as did Lion. Ark pretended not to notice as she set down her cup, cleared her throat, and straightened in her chair.

"Have a fair idea of who to take, Ark?" The Admiral asked.

"A close one, but I think there's really no other option," Ark replied, looking the Admiral in the eye. He saw a determined look in her eye, but a strange sort of determination.

"I'd like to take Lion with me."

A dead silence followed this answer. Lion looked wildly at Ark, and the Admiral closed his eyes, the worst taking shape before him.

"Me?! You want to take me to the Pacific!? Away from my dear-" Lion was silenced with a look from the Admiral, who remained silent himself.

"I've considered everything. There is no better candidate than you, Lion. You will work with the finest ships in the service-"

"I don't want to go!" Lion sobbed, and Ark finally saw the strength of the relationship forged between the Admiral and Lion, and instantly felt a wave of shame sweep over her. But a firm resolve followed, and was bolstered by seeing the Admiral not reacting in any way towards the demand.

"Lion," the Admiral said quietly. "Calm down. It's not befitting a lady to behave in this manner. Do you understand?"

Lion sobbed even louder at this, and the Admiral looked reprovingly at her. Then he turned to Ark, apologetic.

"I'm sorry you have to see this, Ark. May I ask you to leave us for a few minutes? I'll call you back in in a moment to finalize the transfer."

"Certainly, sir." Without even looking at the blubbering Lion Ark stood and swiftly exited the room. The Admiral waited until the door was shut and the footsteps faded away – then he turned his full attention to Lion.

"Stand up, Lion," the Admiral said, and Lion obeyed. She stood with her head hung, tears still rolling down her face. The Admiral sidled out from behind his desk and strode right in front of her, extending a gentle hand to wipe away her tears.

"Your time has come," he quietly remarked.

"M-my t-time, sir..?" Lion stammered.

"These relationships never last for long, Lion." The Admiral turned away from her and looked out the window to the green fields beyond. There was a sad look in his eyes, but a resigned one. "I know you wish to stay here with me forever, Lion, and I am telling you now that that is impossible."

"No, sir! I'll do anything to stay-" She was silenced once again with a hard glance.

"Listen to me, Lion. Have you ever known the vast seas that surround this land? Have you ever felt the breeze of the ocean wind on your cheek and the warm embrace of the sun on your back?"

Lion shook her head, confused as to where the Admiral was going with this.

"I tell you this now, Lion, and only once – never again may there be an opportunity for you to experience such things. For your kind it is a feeling that is unforgettable, a drug more potent than any experience or substance in the world. And I have a feeling that you will infinitely enjoy these things more than I ever have."

"Yes, we may stay together, but for how long? How long will it be until the arms of the Admiralty drag you away in another manner? I would prefer you to be in the care of the best ships in the fleet rather than in some other forgotten corner of the Empire."

Lion continued to cry silently while the Admiral made this speech, but in much more subdued way. Seeing no other way of persuading her, he wrapped his arms around and pulled her into a tight embrace. Lion stopped crying and looked up at the Admiral.

"Weep not, my dear," the Admiral whispered, "in everything you do away from me and home, know that I will always be proud of you. And no matter what you do wrong or right, I will always love you for it." With that he pulled her closer, and kissed her on the brow.

* * *

The papers were prepared and signed in triplicate, and a flushed Holles was soon speaking to Doherty over the phone, apologizing profusely to the latter commander, who simply smiled and waved away all reservations. Ark and Lion watched him, not looking at each other, but the tears on Lion's face had dried and Ark could see the not-yet-firm lines of determination stretched on her face.

Admiral Doherty set down the phone and strode over to the battleship and the carrier, smiling. "All has been taken care of, Ark. I'll have Streatfield bring the car down to take you both back down to Portsmouth."

He turned to Lion, who looked at him with none of the reproach she had shown only minutes earlier – he, too, could see the determination now set in her face. "Good luck, Lion, and God bless you."

Ark and Lion saluted; Doherty returned it, and the two girls left the room. The black saloon car waited for them on the driveway; clambering in, Lion was acutely aware of a small object in her coat pocket. Drawing it out, she found it wrapped in paper.

Unfolding the paper she found a simple brass locket with a lion's head engraved onto it. Lion smiled, recognizing the motif. She opened it, and found a tiny note bearing: "Good luck on your adventures. Love you always. Doherty." Behind the note a small photo of him and Lion snoozing under an evergreen tree sat in the frame.

Ark noticed her looking at something and leaned over. "That's a fine locket, Lion, it suits you well. Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, this?" Lion looked at Ark, and for once she no longer felt any resentment towards the carrier. Ahead of her lay the unknown – but with the Admiral at her side always, she experienced a new sensation, something she'd never felt before in her entire life. "The Admiral gave it to me, I think."

Ark nodded approvingly, and leaned back. As the car swung into Portsmouth main road, Lion realised what her new feeling was. It was pure happiness.


	6. The Empire Returns

The supplies were holding up for an astoundingly long time – for such a long voyage none of the girls could complain about the rations, which had been packed in hampers by some of the womenfolk of Portsmouth. They even got as far as the Brazilian coast before Childers, perhaps in a fit of boredom, threw her cold pork pie into the churning waves.

What they _could_ complain about was the fickleness of the Atlantic. As if the spirits of the ocean also loathed English cooking storms slowed their progress to a crawl as they navigated the wasted coasts of Southern America, taking refuge in sheltered coves whenever the storm wore them down too much. This they bore stoically.

Their first port of call had been the Azores, the fierce but not unkind native population giving them shelter either out of respect or plain ignorance. They'd gathered what fruits they could and preserved most of it so as to keep it for the weeks of travel ahead.

They headed south-west after that, encountering no wayward Abyssal patrol to break the monotony, but also taking note of the devastation wreaked all along the coastal cities and towns. Once-bustling ports lay derelict before their eyes, each settlement telling its own sad tale of destruction. A deathly silence lingered as they progressed down the coast.

Ark remained undisturbed at the ruins of civilization. So did the other senior girls, who retained their discipline and reined in their emotions as they passed each destroyed port. But the emotions of some of the younger girls were harder to quell. In order to keep their spirits up, Ark never set up camp in a settlement, preferring to shelter the squadron under the dense jungle canopy. It was uncomfortable, yes, but better than having the cruisers and destroyers go to pieces being constantly surrounded by the stench of death.

What was more, as they headed south, they lost the warmth of the equatorial Atlantic and exchanged it for the biting cold winds screaming along the rocky coasts of Argentina. Here the endurance of the squadron was tested to the limit as winds from Antarctica lashed them – but the will of Ark Royal and Lion together, two of the most potent symbols in the Royal Navy, kept the squadron going. That and anything but hard tack for supper.

"How far are we off, Ark?" Victorious shouted over the howling winds. They were cruising off the rock-lined coast, keeping it in sight so as to not lose their way.

"Not far, not far!" Ark shouted back. "Should be one or two more days down this way, if my calculations are correct."

"Land ho! Land ho!"

Ark turned to the caller, Warspite, who looked to the south. Sure enough, behind her a thin smudge of grey could be seen on the horizon.

"Forget about tomorrow! All ships, full steam ahead!" Ark shouted, and in seconds the twelve ships of the squadron sped for the island at full speed. The island grew bigger and bigger before them, and soon gulls hovered over them, keening at their approach.

Ark was relieved. Their second port of call lay ahead of them, grey and bleak, but welcome nevertheless. They had arrived at the Falklands.

The jetties were empty, devoid of life as they cruised in. Even as they disarmed their equipment and explored the small port hamlet they had landed at, they quickly found every building boarded shut, every building not shut completely empty. This alone unnerved most of the girls, but to Ark something was off – there was no stench of death in any of these buildings.

Ark regrouped the girls at the piers after all the buildings had been inspected and held a council with all the other girls.

"There's one was we can do this," Ark said. "We can encamp here and wait out the night or we can explore the island now."

"What did the Admiral say about this port?" Georgie asked.

"Let me see…" Ark got out the operation papers from a cache in her deck-shield. "Ports of call… Falklands… ah, here we go – 'The squadron encamping here is advised to seek contact with units of the Falklands Station. Command is based in Port Stephens, nominal strength of one cruiser and three destroyers. Current commander, Commodore H.S. Brandwaithe…'"

"Commodore Brandwaithe?" Georgie repeated. "Never heard of him. Anyone heard of him?"

The other girls shook their heads, but Lion didn't and instead looked thoughtful. "Brandwaithe? I heard Admiral Doherty talking about him-"

Ark turned to her. "Oh? What's he like?"

Lion shook her head. "I only really know that he's been here a long time and that he's quite old. Admiral Doherty used to laugh every time the officer postings came in – he said he and Brandwaithe were the only officers in the entire Service that were never considered for transfer."

"Never considered for transfer?" Ark frowned, and some of the other girls looked at each other with some confusion.

"That's right, Ark." This time Victorious spoke. "What Lion says is true. Brandwaithe has never served anywhere else than the Falklands, and has no intention of serving anywhere else. Admiral Holles knows this as well."

Ark looked annoyed for a moment. "So you knew this too, Victorious? You didn't think to tell me earlier?"

Victorious blushed. "Well, you know, I was hoping that someone would be here to greet us, not this ghost town…"

Ark laughed. "To tell you the truth, Victorious, I wasn't expecting this as well. Never mind, then. Now, Port Stephens…" Ark dug out the relevant map from her sheaf of papers. "We're here- I think." She pointed at the small grey area of Stanley. "Port Stephens is over there-" she pointed to the western edge of the isles. "Now, here's the question: can we get over there in time?"

They all looked up at the sky. Above them the clouds were beginning to darken, and the wind dropped to a faint whisper. They all knew what that meant.

* * *

_Port Stephens_

"Alright, girls, get inside! If you keep playing out there the storm will strike you down where you stand!"

A grizzled old man stood at the threshold of the weather-beaten house, arms folded and looking sternly at the three girls that played in his garden. A wild, straggling beard blew around his wrinkled face. They stopped, and trudged towards the house.

"No dinner before bath-time, girls, so up you go to Exeter right away! Go on, get!" He mock-shooed them into the house as the girls skipped and laughed at him.

"Sir, what's for dinner?" one of them, a brown curly-haired youngster in a petticoat, asked.

"No details 'til you've done your bath! Now get up there!"

The girls obeyed, racing up the wooden steps with speed. The grizzled old man heard their footsteps on the creaking landing, the excited chatter of the little ones, and then the motherly voice of the older one, Exeter. Satisfied, he turned to the kitchen.

Twenty-one minutes later, having bathed and cleaned to a respectable degree, the scrubbed little girls sat around the rough-hewn round table. Next to them Exeter, their minder and superior, sat patiently waiting for the old man to come in.

Exeter, of course, descended from one of the famous cruisers that had fought the German 'pocket' battleship Graf Spee at the Battle of River Plate. Her ancestor had limped down to the Falkland Islands to repair and refuel, after receiving a savage battering by the German heavy cruiser.

As a ship-girl, however, the Admiralty thought that her services would be better employed where she had seen most of her action. Thus she was assigned to the Falklands Station almost immediately after her commissioning. It was because of this rapid deployment that very few other girls knew of her existence.

At Falklands Station, however, it was soon quickly realized that such a position was not going to be easily maintained. Abyssal raiders frequenting the Argentinean coast often targeted the isles as an afterthought, wreaking much havoc against the population living there. Unable to return to Britain or travel to South Africa or even the South American mainland, the population settled itself further inland and prepared for a protracted naval blockade.

Exeter, along with her initial comrades of the cruisers Hampshire and Shropshire and a myriad of other younger ship-girls, held onto their position tenaciously, conducting frequent sorties to interdict Abyssal raids. At one point, the Admiralty even sent a relief force destined for South Africa their way for a month which included the battleship Revenge and the carriers Invincible and Indomitable. They certainly gave the Abyssals one hell of a beating that month.

But with pressing situations elsewhere, the Admiralty redeployed some of the girls stationed at the Falklands elsewhere – Hampshire and Shropshire returned to Britain, while the destroyer flotilla was whittled down to the minimum of three units, Creole, Tartar, and Barfleur.

And now only Commodore Brandwaithe commanded the station, a veteran of both world wars and a native of the Falklands to boot. He, however, considered himself semi-retired – he'd done enough for a country he'd only lived in for three short years.

"An' here's dinner!" Brandwaithe stumped into the small dining room bearing a tray of potato soup and mutton pie.

There were cheers, but dulled ones. They'd all had enough of the Commodore's cooking. With barely-concealed weariness they dug their spoons into the steaming pies and watery soup and ate in silence.

The girls helped with the washing-up while the Commodore attended to the radio in the front room. It crackled and popped as he turned the tuning dial carefully. Snatches of Spanish could be heard here and there – Argentinian government broadcasts. He turned it millimeter by millimeter until finally, he could hear the familiar strains of the BBC, broadcasting from Cape Town.

He grunted at the light chamber music that played, and turned to the fireplace. Heaping an armful of dry logs and tinder into the hearth, a merry fire soon sprang up as he lit and coaxed it.

Just as Brandwaithe settled into his armchair, the four girls burst into the room, all in their nightgowns. The Commodore carried on filling his pipe, unsurprised by their vigor. Exeter sat in the adjacent armchair while the three destroyer-girls lounged around, half-listening to the radio.

"Isn't it about bedtime for the lot of you?" the Commodore puffed.

"Right after dinner, sir?" Tartar responded.

"It's going to be a long day tomorrow, girls, after this storm's done over. I expect Mr. Sheppard will want help milking in the morning."

All three of the little girls groaned at this. The Commodore chuckled, and continued. "Then I think Exeter will want you in for some arithmetic after that. I know you all love the numbers…" More groans.

"Is there anything that won't tire us out tomorrow, sir?" Creole asked.

"Hah! I'm giving you the scraps as it is! If you girls want, you can clean up your equipment after that too!"

"Cleaning?! After the house today?" Tartar exclaimed.

"Now, girls, if you don't stop complaining, I'll have dear Exeter sleep with you tonight! How about that?"

"Nyaaa!" Barfleur stuck out her tongue at the Commodore. "Exeter doesn't scare us anymore! We's brave little girls now!"

"Right! That's it!" The Commodore leapt out of his chair with surprising agility. "If you won't get to bed this instant, I'll toss you in them instead. Here I come!" He mock-charged at them, and they dashed away, laughing at his antics as he roared them up the stairs. Exeter, eternal cruiser, merely smiled in amusement.

Two minutes later, the Commodore came down and resumed his pipe, puffing away as if nothing had happened. But before he could refill his second pipe, Exeter turned to him.

"What exactly did you mean by 'cleaning our equipment'?" she asked.

The Commodore was silent for a while, stuffing his pipe with another wad of tobacco. Then he set it aside.

"I had a message from the Admiralty today," he quietly said, in contrast to his enthusiastic roars only moments ago.

"From the Admiralty, sir?"

"Yes. I couldn't make out all of it, but it mentioned something about a large arrival in the next few days."

It was Exeter's turn to be silent now as she digested this. Then she spoke. "A large arrival, they said? How large exactly, sir?"

"I don't know. Could be like last time, but now that I remember back then they didn't tell us at all last time. Must be something really big if they had to tell us this time."

Exeter nodded in agreement. "Have you made the necessary arrangements, sir? Or would you like us to carry them out?"

The Commodore smiled at her. "No need, my dear. I've had Mr. Williams set aside the old drill hall for them. That'll have to do until we can get them something better."

Exeter nodded and turned back to the radio. Brandwaithe sat back in his chair, puffing away serenely.

* * *

It was just light out as Warspite led the fleet around the island, keeping the fleet in line astern as they skirted around the coast.

Ark had the map out, Lion took the bearings, Victorious scanned the coast with her glass and Warspite kept an eye out for rocks. Steam billowed freely in completely-opaque clouds as the girls fought with the cold winds that blew in from Antarctica.

"Should be crossing the sound between the two islands soon," Ark murmured as they crossed the channel, looking out to starboard. Sure enough the other island could be seen and Warspite steered the fleet towards it.

"Ark, can you see what I see?" Victorious asked, still peering through her eyeglass at the bleak but green hills ahead.

Ark looked ahead. White dots milled around on the green slopes, and she quickly identified them as grazing sheep. But on top of the hill a string of pennants fluttered from a flagpole, and Ark squinted at them, trying to discern their meaning.

"Settlement ahead!" called Warspite in the van. Ark turned her attention forward and sure enough, the faint plumes of civilization could be seen among the craggy bluffs and tall cliffs.

"Steer us in close, Warspite!" The line of girls shifted to port then starboard as Warspite searched for an inlet among the cliffs. It was along these craggy bluffs that Ark spotted the figures watching them from the edges – rustics tending to the sheep, idly observing their progress. But it was this bland attitude that surprised the girls. These people weren't surprised at all by their arrival. In fact, they appeared to look rather indifferent.

Warspite finally spotted the inlet – it was hard not to, with a number of scarred buoys marking the entrance to the port. Ark was surprised to spot several camouflaged coastal batteries on the low cliffs that now surrounded them.

They could see the settlement of Port Stephens now, a small hamlet hugging the beaches with several wooden piers sectioning the small bay. On one of these piers a white figure stood watching them, beside a lady in a familiar uniform of dark blue.

Warspite slowed down and the other girls did the same, each aiming for the marked disembarkation points on the jetties. In a matter of seconds the girls leapt off water and onto firm land. Ark and Victorious alighted together near the man in the white uniform.

The officer walked toward them, followed by the lady in blue. Ark slung her longbow around herself and saluted as they got in range, to which they responded with their own snappy salutes. The bearded and grizzled officer, looking old but venerable, offered his hand.

"Welcome to Port Stephens, Ark Royal," he said as they shook hands. "Commodore Brandwaithe, at your service." Brandwaithe gestured to the lady by his side. "This is Exeter, my secretary."

"A pleasure to have you all here with us, Ark Royal." Exeter said. Her voice was pleasant, very effeminate, like a breath of wind through a field of wildflowers.

Ark smiled at the two. "It was certainly good fortune that landed us here, sir. Were those your watchers that you posted by the cliffs?"

"Oh no, merely villagers here that know all too well of your existence. Here, Ark Royal, everyone is in it together. It isn't easy being this isolated, you know…" He laughed.

"I understand, sir."

Brandwaithe suddenly looked at her sternly. "Ah, I wouldn't say so confidently, Ark Royal. But where have my manners gone?" He laughed again, a clear, booming sound despite his grizzled beard. "Come on, I'll show you all to your quarters."

They trudged into town, the Commodore leading the way, and found a horse-drawn wooden cart by the main square. The girls piled their equipment into it, stretching out as they relieved their burdens. Ark looked around – there were no townsfolk around aside from the elderly Civil Defense volunteers who stood around either idly watching them or manning their posts by the anti-aircraft gun emplacements.

Brandwaithe led the group up the high street, which wound itself along the coast towards a compound built sloping up the hill. Far ahead Ark could see the rustling camouflage nets of the batteries – closer to them she could see the familiar radio mast of the communications shack, the flagpole marking the assembly ground and a snug little cottage beside it, presumably where the Commodore lived.

The horse cart turned towards a large hall just off the parade ground. In peeling black paint it bore the label 'Drill Hall'.

Brandwaithe looked apologetic as he showed them in, switching on a light to reveal the disused interior. "I'm sorry that this is all the space we have to accommodate you all," he said, gesturing at the bunk beds set up.

Ark shook her head. "After sleeping on hard ground last night and sailing for near a week straight? Hardly anything to apologize for, sir."

They shared a laugh, and the girls filed into the hall. It became immediately apparent to them that the hall had only just been recently prepared – some of the bunks had not been fully secured, and the hall had not been swept in a long time. Commodore Brandwaithe excused himself with slight bow and left, followed by Exeter.

"Ah-choo!" Victorious sneezed, and a thick cloud of dust billowed off an old cabinet she had been examining. "Ah-choo! Ah-choo!"

Childers tugged on Ark's sleeve. "I think Victorious has a cold, ma'am."

"Not a cold, Childers!" Ark swept her arm around the dingy hall and laughed aloud. "It's all this dust!"

"What are we going to do, Ark?"

Ark turned around to the door and flung it open, and the wind howled in. Dust blew in all directions as the searching winds raced through the hall, and it found escape routes as some of the other girls opened some of the windows, carrying the dust with it.

Georgie found a couple of old brooms inside one of the closets and handed one to Norfolk, who took it and began sweeping. Seconds later the other ten fled the room as the dust swirled into a storm as both girls, the sprightly battleship and the determined cruiser swept it up, flaring up into some hidden rivalry.

"You two, cut it out!" Lion yelled. The dust storm continued unabated and their battle cries could even be heard.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here?"

Ark spun around – three little girls stood nervously on the path. They wore worn uniforms of white cotton shirts and grey dresses. One sported a fur cap atop her sleek black hair, another plaited wheat-yellow locks, and the last red string ribbons tied in her curled brown locks. They looked rather quizzically at the large group.

_Village children? _Ark wondered. But before she could say anything, Cheviot pushed her way in front of Ark.

"Creole, is that you?!" she squealed.

"Cheviot?!" The yellow-haired girl exclaimed. They ran up to each other and hugged, and in moments all care for the dueling girls inside the hall vanished as the three little destroyers greeted the newcomers in turn, hugging even the more taciturn members of the fleet such as Berwick and Penelope. The cruisers, surprised by this reunion, hugged back.

"But what are you all doing here, Cheviot?" Tartar asked.

"We're here on a very important mission!" Ark interjected, smiling broadly at the fur-capped destroyer. Tartar looked up at her.

"Very important mission? Oooh, what about, Miss Ark Royal?"

"Can't tell you 'til dinner, I'm afraid. I'm sure the Commodore would quite like to know as well, don't you think?"

Tartar looked uncertain, but then smiled as well and nodded. "Alright, Miss Ark Royal, I guess that makes sense." She turned to Cheviot. "What are you all going to do now?"

Now it was Cheviot's turn to look uncertain. "Ummm… nothing really sure what to do around here." She glanced at the dust storm continuing unabated in the drill hall.

Tartar brightened. "Well, how about we take you on a tour of the pastures? I'm sure the sheep wouldn't mind."

"What about the town?" Ark asked.

The little Tribal-class destroyer glanced dismissively back the way she'd come from. "The town? There's nothing to see in town. And it smells, too. All those icky fishermen and their catches of the day – eurgh!" She grimaced.

"Alright," Cheviot grinned. "Let's go meet the sheep. Who's coming?"

In an instant her sisters came to her side, but Ark backed away a little. "I'm sorry, girls, but we've really got to fix up the hall before it gets dark. But I'm sure Tartar and her sisters will take good care of you-"

"Begging your pardon, Miss Ark Royal," Tartar interrupted, looking a little stern, "but we aren't sisters. We're friends, that's all."

"Oh!" Ark blushed, and the others who had managed to hear Tartar laughed aloud. "Very sorry about that, Tartar."

"It's alright, miss." Tartar turned back to her new friends. "Alright, let's get going!"

"Not so fast, Tartar!"

"Oh, crumbs." The destroyer's expression turned from cheerful to miserable remarkably quickly as Exeter came charging down the slope.

"Where the devil have you all been?" Exeter demanded, catching Tartar and Creole simultaneously by the ear. "Don't you know it's twenty past two already? You've got your studies and your equipment to-"

"Sorry, Exeter! We didn't mean to get stalled-"

Ark caught the cruiser by the shoulder. "Now, now, Exeter, it's really us that's at fault here, don't blame them, we were just in the way-"

"I beg you not to get in my way, Ark Royal, in affairs that aren't yours!" Exeter snapped, brushing Ark's hand off. "Now, to class, the lot of you! Don't make me say it again!"

Ark was about to flare up in defense, but luckily Berwick touched her arm, stopping her.

"Let it go, Ark," she quietly warned. "I do not know her that well, but she is still my sister. I cannot say for certain what she would be like in full anger."

Ark backed down and watched as Exeter dragged the destroyers away. Barfleur looked apologetic as she skulked behind the other two.

The dust storm finally stopped. Ark popped her head inside. Georgie and Norfolk lay exhausted on their respective bunks, the brooms they had been dueling with in tatters on the floor. But they'd achieved what might have taken hours in half an hour – the hall was clean, and this time Victorious crashed on her bunk without even noticing that two screws were loose.

The other girls closed the windows and suppressed their giggles as Victorious tumbled off her bunk as it collapsed under her weight. Swearing rather unprofessionally, she began to repair it as Ark, Lion and Warspite brought in their luggage.

Before long the iron brazier in the center of the hall was lit and weak warmth pervaded through the space. The girls idled around the dim light, resting on their bunks, or in the case of Victorious and the three battleships, playing their ritual game of whist. As usual, Warspite cursed her luck and Victorious was cheating. Lion blushed as honors showered her hand and Georgie tried to keep calm as Victorious slammed trick after trick down.

Ark lay in her bunk, going through the operational notes. The description of the Falklands had been brief, to say at least. It didn't mention what level of defenses the population had, or about the expected Abyssal threat levels. Perhaps that was something she would have to ask the Commodore about.

She read on, about the stages of the journey after. There was a recommendation by the Hydrographic Office to avoid the Horn islands altogether and to sail an extra 200 miles out of the way, along with a warning from the Admiralty about possible Abyssal anchorages in the area. That was something that might have to be debated with the others.

Three brief lines described the route between Cape Horn and New Zealand, with an ordered stoppage at Wellington. Then a stopover trip to Sydney and Brisbane. The more Ark read the orders, the whole mission felt more like a world tour more suited to an international rock band. Ark giggled to herself. As if there was an international band willing to risk their lives on a world tour nowadays.

Her musing was cut short as the door opened and the Commodore, still in his uniform, entered. Again Exeter was with him, now looking as motherly as she had been when she first greeted them.

"Trumps and victory! Read them and weep!" Victorious threw down her last card with a triumphant crow, only to have three similar cards slip out of her sleeve at the same time.

"Hey, you were cheating again! Re-deal, re-deal! Why you, Victorious, that's shameful!" All three other players, including Georgie, her partner, glared daggers at her. The blushing carrier retreated slightly as they advanced, ready to exact revenge.

Exeter cleared her throat noisily. Quick as a flash the senior girls stood to attention, and the others followed. The Commodore waved them down.

"It's just about suppertime now, I guess." Brandwaithe said. "Why don't you come to my house and have it with us? Or have you got your own…?"

"Ah, no, sir," Ark answered. "We've got rations for the journey ahead, but I think if we ate them here we'd have hardly enough for the Pacific stretch."

"True, true." Brandwaithe beckoned to them. "Well, why don't you come to my place for supper? I'm sure you're all sick of hard tack by now." He laughed again.

But before anyone could move or even laugh at that remark, a helmeted guard came rushing in, rifle banging furiously on his back. He skidded to a halt before Brandwaithe.

"Hold on there, Williams! What's the matter?" Brandwaithe asked, concern rising in his voice.

"I'm sorry, sir! We've just received an advance signal from Pebble via Port Howard! We've got unknowns approaching the sound-"

"What!?" The concerned expression on the Commodore's face turned to distress as he digested this. Ark watched as the Falklands commander struggled with himself for a moment.

"Williams, ring the town bell. Get Quentin and the reservists out of their bunks and at their posts immediately. I want a full readiness signal broadcast to all positions in the sound. Go!"

"Right away, sir!" The guard sped off. The commodore turned to Ark and the rest, who all stood, tense, as if expecting an appropriate order.

"Girls, I don't need to tell you what a shock this information is. What rotten luck! Night's falling and we might have a raid on our hands!"

"What can we do, sir?" Ark asked, speaking for her fleet.

"For now, I advise you to rest. You've all had a long journey, and I would hate for you to fight in unfamiliar waters at this time-"

A familiar boom in the distance caused them all to jump – it was clear now that the hostiles had entered the Falklands Sound. Brandwaithe glanced back at Ark and the rest for a moment, his face worried. Then he ran out the door, along with Exeter.

Ark, Lion, Victorious and the rest watched them go. For a minute no-one moved, even as the blasts repeated in the far distance, and the hasty boots of roused guards trampled past their new abode.

Then Georgie broke the spell by striding purposefully out the door. Warspite joined her, then Lion, and then everyone else, except for Ark. She stayed where she had risen before, the operational notes strewn over her bunk. She glanced back down at them for a second. One line stood out in particular: 'Under no circumstances is the fleet to be committed in the defense of a port. The fleet commander is advised to conserve fleet strength to preserve the lives for fleet members.'

_Well, to hell with that._ Ark walked out the door.


	7. Battle of Falklands Sound

"Ark Royal! What the devil do you think you're doing?" the Commodore called.

"Exactly what the regulations say we mustn't do," Ark replied bluntly. She walked at the head of her fleet, all armed to the teeth. They halted next Brandwaithe, who, with the guardsman from earlier, had been discussing the situation just before.

"You intend to sortie? At this time of night? Good heavens!" The Commodore's face grew a delicate shade of puce as he tried to sort it all out in his head. "Have you no sense of self-preservation, Ark? D'you not understand the burden and hope that rests on you and your brethren's shoulders?"

"I understand completely, sir," Ark answered, a grim determination set on her face. "But we cannot allow your small force to engage the Abyssals unaided. Please, sir, let us help."

Commodore Brandwaithe looked at the set faces of the twelve girls that stood before him. Reason returned to him, but slowly – he glanced quickly at the guard, whose attention was occupied by the report of guns in the distance. Then he turned back to them, still looking stern.

"I cannot!" he burst out, "Your lives are more important than ours, Ark Royal. I cannot consent to lives being lost on my watch. Especially none as important as yours. I cannot allow it!"

"Our lives are more important, sir?" Ark replied, with a veneer of contempt in her voice. "Sir, we belong to His Majesty's service, if you have forgotten – it is our duty and honour to come to the aid of any in need of it-"

"My squadron has no need of help! They have overcome the Abyssals plenty in the past! Ark, I understand your concern, but the safety of your members is paramount to the security of the Empire. If anything were to happen-"

"If, sir, if? How will the security of the Empire be maintained if you so carelessly neglect the defence of your station? Have you forgotten your own place, sir?"

"Silence! I will not be spoken to in that manner! Insolent creature!" Brandwaithe, red with fury, raised a hand as if to strike Ark down. Victorious and Warspite advanced to intercept, but out of nowhere, and to the total surprise of everyone present, the guardsman threw all his strength into restraining the Commodore's raised hand.

"Sir, sir! You cannot strike a woman down!" he cried, struggling to bring the Commodore's hand down.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?! How dare you! I am-" But even as he angrily spluttered these words, reason rushing back to him. The tension broke in him, and with it, his anger. He remembered. He remembered his place.

The guardsman, noticing the slackening, let him go. The arm came down reasonably enough, and the Commodore looked down at the ground, clearly embarrassed.

"What is your name, guard?" Ark asked to her saviour.

"Richards, ma'am," the stolid guardsman replied.

"Thank you very much, Mr Richards. Now, sir," Ark turned to the repentant Commodore, who continued to look down on the ground. "Will you stand by your girls, or will you stand against us?" she challenged, quietly.

The Commodore did not meet her gaze as he answered. "Do what you will, Ark. I have nothing left against you."

Ark looked at the bowed Commodore for a moment, and then turned to her girls. "I want everyone formed up by the quay in five minutes. Warspite, in the lead, please. Oh, and Lion, send a signal to Exeter that we're inbound to assist, in fifteen minutes."

Without another word the other eleven trooped off down the hill, towards the town. Ark nodded at the Commodore and his guard, the latter of which saluted stiffly. Then she turned to follow her comrades.

A few minutes after ark had left, the Commodore raised his head. The guard came to attention as he looked his way, with none of any previous emotion on his face.

"Richards, get to your post," the Commodore quietly ordered. "I shall speak to you later. Go."

"Yes, sir!" The guard turned and hurried away.

The Commodore directed his gaze to the town, with all its emergency red lights on, He could dimly make out Ark and her girls assembled by the quay, a solid mass of dark figures among a swarming hive of others.

"By God, Ark," he breathed, clasping his hands, "return safely."

* * *

Warspite put the transceiver down. "Ark, Exeter wants us by the foot of the Sound when we arrive."

"Does she want you on call or…?" Ark asked.

"Supporting fire when we arrive. She says the Abyssal fleet is not far off. They're engaging the shore batteries now."

"They'll never hit a thing in this darkness," Victorious piped up.

"Good thing we've got the local defences on our side," Ark agreed. "Alright, everyone, I want a tight formation out of the inlet. Let's go!"

Ark turned to Lion, just as she turned to follow the others. "Patch me a line to Exeter, Lion."

Within minutes, the battleship jumped in the water, and soon Ark and Victorious stood by the quay as they watched the fleet leave. Ark put on the headset as she and the other carrier prepared to jump in.

Soon all of them were cruising down the inlet, Ark and Victorious trailing in the rear. As they reached the inlet mouth, both raised their bows with jet-black arrows notched.

"Night scouts, Victorious?"

"Checking - loaded!"

"On my mark – fire!"

Both of them loosed their arrows in unison and they whizzed into the night sky. The whistle became low droning as the scouts flew off into the night. The radio crackled into life in Ark's ear a moment later as Lion reported in.

"Gunfire ahead, Ark. These don't sound like shore batteries – what should we do?"

"Hold, Lion. Set speed down to quarter and await my orders." Ark fiddled with the frequency knob as she turned it to Exeter's channel.

"Check, check, Exeter, are you there?"

Sounds of gunfire punctuated through the receiver as Exeter made her reply. Her tone was calm, but for Ark it vibrated with energy. "Exeter here. Engaging significant bulk of Abyssal force. Come quickly!"

"Acknowledged, Exeter, on our way!" Ark replied. Twisting the knob all the way back, she fairly shouted her next orders. "All units, full speed ahead! Flanking fire, pour it on! Go!"

A cry arose as the fleet as smoke billowed around them in full and they tilted forward in full pelt towards the enemy. Though it was dark and vision was limited, they could see the battle erupting before them in a cacophony of blasts and the white flashes of gunfire as Exeter and her escorts opened fire.

Warspite slowed back to cruising speed. "Yellow and Blue sections, take the right flank, don't let them break through! Red section, on me!"

"Roger!" Childers and Lion dashed forward into the darkness, followed by their satellites.

It was not long until the other two sections fell into position. "Yellow section, in position!" Childers cried from the darkness. "Blue section, in position!" Lion called.

"Range on my command! Set distance twenty thousand yards!" Warspite shouted into her mike. Her own turrets swivelled into position, and the servos groaned and whined as the barrels elevated into firing position.

"Set! Set!"

"On my mark, fire in sequence!" Warspite called. "Fire!"

Warspite's fifteen-inch guns roared in order, shattering the darkness with the white heat of the muzzle flashes. Georgie's fourteens followed, with equally bright and furious bursts, then Norfolk followed with her own.

All along the line the dusk's shadow was broken by the deafening cascade of cannon fire as guns of all calibres opened up. This was the glory of the Royal Navy, the unbroken power of the Empire that reigned so steadfastly over the horizons of many lands and seas – a power that grew from the end of a naval gun, a power that the Empire harnessed, nurtured, and used time and time again. It was through this power that the Empire was born, forged, and now wielded with a vengeance.

The Abyssal squadron, shocked out of their self-assured success, fell back. All around them the mild waters of the sound erupted into a maelstrom of metal, explosive and violent waves as the shells slammed down in furious thick clumps. One fourteen-inch shell (courtesy of Georgie) struck a destroyer dead-on and the vicious thing, like a fox struck by a hunter's bullet, snapped its jaws, keeled over, and sank.

Of course, they fired back at the bright flashes that now consumed their horizons. But the blinding light ruined their sight and their shells splashed in wayward places, nowhere near where Warspite was now arraying her forces. Their original prey, Exeter and her group, had now disappeared among the massive line of British girls that now nearly stretched across the sound.

The unruffled voice of Exeter came over Ark's radio. "You came in the nick of time, Ark. They're stronger than I thought-"

"Not stronger than us, surely," Ark coolly replied. "A mere raiding party, no more than four cruisers and seven- wait, six destroyers. This'll be our dinner-"

"A mere raiding party?! God in heaven!" Exeter cried. "We would have been slaughtered if they had got near enough to cross swords - heavens! Tartar!"

"Exeter! What's going on?"

"Tartar got hit – stray shell – going to help-" The radio cut off.

"Exeter! Come in, Exeter! God damn it all! Yellow section, investigate!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" Childers steered her section to the right and fell out of line to attend to Exeter.

Meanwhile, Warspite and Lion continued the storming barrage, softening up the enemy for the next move. Adjusting their guns, the cruisers shifted their fire to the limit, purposely missing to trap the Abyssals between two fires. Even the leftover members of Exeter's group joined in the attack, the destroyers sweeping through the line and raining massed fire on their retreating flank.

"Blue section, prime flares!" Warspite ordered.

"Flares primed, Red Leader!"

"Fire!"

Two red, glowing flares were launched into the air, illuminating the stretch of the sound between which the two fleets squared off. Warspite, squinting the dim light, drew her sword.

"Red section, blue section, will advance and fire! By my mark," Warspite called, sword-hilt at her cheek, "for-ward!" She swept the sword-point down, to her side. The girls roared out a tumultuous battle-cry and began to advance under the dim red light.

What terror must have struck the black hearts of the Abyssals as they saw, in the red and black of the scene, the solid line of their enemies moving resolutely forward under the thin smoke-welter of the battlefield? Firing alternately every few yards, the British girls never faltered even as the Abyssal gunnery grew more and more accurate, their jagged shells falling closer and closer. This was the classic broad march, conducted to the music of thundering cannon and splashing shells. To the wild Abyssal raiders it was a manoeuvre that chilled them to the bone.

Warspite, Georgie, and Lion held the line between the lighter units as solid bulwarks, cruising almost casually into the battle. Even as their own flares died away Ark's scouts droned overhead and dropped star-shells over the field to lend even brighter illumination. As Red and Blue sections crossed the first ten thousand yards, the Abyssals could see, clearly, the shadowy faces of their adversaries.

They only saw murder etched on all the faces that opposed them.

That did it. Used to only polite to no resistance, the appearance of heavily-armed, professional, and bloodthirsty British girls was enough to send the raiding party to flight. They began to turn and flee.

But Warspite was not content to let them run from her to do evil another day. "All sections, increase speed and intensify fire on all visible targets. Don't let them escape!" All along the line the girls roared out their approval in a long, long rolling wave of terrible noise.

One by one the shells came down again. The churning waves slowed the stragglers, who were then caught and finished off at extremely close range. No mercy was shown, for mercy to Abyssals, as the girls knew from hard-won experience, was only cruelty to them. Only three escaped, never to be seen again in the pristine waters of the Falklands Sound.

Lion sidled up alongside Warspite and stared into the gaining darkness, casting a veil over the movements of the retreating Abyssals.

"A textbook sortie," Lion remarked cheerfully. "I'm glad it didn't it come to blows. Shall we turn homeward, dear Warspite?"

"Hmm," was the taciturn battleship's reply. They reversed course and headed back down the sound. Warspite pulled down her transceiver. "Red Leader to Green, opposition neutralised. Requesting aerial reconnaissance of north end of the sound."

"Green Leader to Red, acknowledged. Come in, all sections. Let's go home." The fleet turned and vanished into the inky black.

The warmth of the coal-starved brazier flickered and died as the girls trooped back into their quarters. Re-lighting the fire, they laid the wounded on the spring-beds and treated them the best they could. Tartar had seen the worst of it, no less than two direct hits charring her clothes and causing her great pain. But she bore the pain stoically, only wincing occasionally as they dabbed the sharp ointment to ease it.

Within an hour the worst cases – Tartar, Barfleur, and Norfolk (who sustained several minor hits to her superstructure) – had been tucked away in blankets and those still left tended to their own sores and aches.

Exeter, worn but otherwise content, sat beside the dozing Creole. As soon as her charge lay asleep she tucked in the blanket, rose, and walked over to where Ark and Victorious counted their arrows.

The carriers looked up as the motherly cruiser approached. Her begrimed face was worn with the lines of age but for them she wore her broadest smile.

"Thank you, Ark Royal," she said.

Ark blushed at the compliment. "Ah, well, we were only doing our duty, weren't we, Victorious?" She turned to look at her companion. Victorious nodded, bowed her head, and continued to count and re-fletch her arrows.

"You'll have to forgive her, Exeter, she doesn't talk that much after a battle," Ark remarked. "Although, with her sister in tow…"

Victorious glanced sharply at Ark, who put a finger to her lips and grinned. "I swear to God, Ark, one more word about my sister, and you'll be tasting the business end of my-"

"We don't need to know where you intend to jam anything, Victorious," Ark cheekily replied. "Everyone knows about that secret tea party you lot are always off on."

"I don't know what you're on about."

"Neither do we. Oh, but there's Georgie! She's a frequent guest, isn't she? Let's ask her, shall we?"

"No, no, Ark, not a word, not a word!" Victorious flung her fists at Ark, hammering away her shoulders. The other carrier playfully blocked her attacks and looked apologetically up to Exeter.

"Quite the family you have, Ark Royal," Exeter said.

"Ah, well, not quite a family, but we do get along – most of the time," Ark glanced at the furious carrier still battering her arm. "Say, you don't happen have our dinners ready, do you?"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Exeter rose quickly. "I'm terribly sorry about that, Ark Royal," she apologized, bowing low, "I'll have it done in half an hour. Excuse me!"

The motherly cruiser quickly strode out of the hall. By the time she returned she found Ark, Victorious, the battleships, the cruisers (minus Norfolk, who lay resting in her bed) and the destroyers sitting in a mass discussion. The moment she walked in bearing two trays laden with food they all turned, like dogs with a scent, to her.

The fleet tucked in immediately. Within a few short minutes, to the dismay and surprise of Exeter, they had licked the plates clean.

"Ah! Hot food after battle! Nothing better!" Georgie remarked, as the satisfied members sat back or lay on their beds.

"I'm glad you are all fed," Exeter murmured, to no-one in particular. "But I must confess, I am rather surprised…"

"Surprised, Exeter?" Ark queried. "An army marches on its stomach, or so they say. We girls are no different, are we?" she called, and her brethren responded with a hearty cheer.

"Shh-h!" the cruiser admonished, putting a finger to her lips, pointing at the sleeping girls. The cheer was stifled in short order.

* * *

"Up to the cairn and back again! Five times! Go!"

The day was downcast; the white and grey clouds seemed to stretch endlessly across the horizon as the hidden dawn brought pale light to the bleak cliffs and green hills of the Falklands. The waters of the sound were gentle and benign, in contrast to the upheavals it had experienced the night before.

A ragged line of running figures graced the beaten path up to the summit of the cliff that overlooked the port bay. They ran around the memorial cairn placed atop it to remember the lives of those lost in service to the Falklands and the Empire, fulfilling the physical demands of their tough coach and the spiritual demands of their lost ancestors.

Ark huffed and puffed as she rounded the little pile of cannonballs and raced back down the hill. Three down. Two to go. Hot on her heels was Penelope, with her brown pigtails flailing all over the place; following a little way behind Childers gallantly kept abreast of the struggling Lion.

As usual Cheviot and Charity led the pack, almost jogging into the final lap as the stern Warspite oversaw their progress.

"Come on, now, pick it up! Those sharks would have eaten you lot for dinner instead if you all kept that pace!" Warspite called, tapping her foot in impatience.

The girls groaned, and redoubled their efforts.

"Hmmm. Just adequate," Warspite remarked, clicking her stopwatch as Victorious skidded into last place, meeting the jeers and teasing of her comrades. "Alright, form up, let's do some star jumps!" More groans. "No groaning! Too much complaining in this fleet. Hurry up!"

Slowly, they did as ordered. "One, two, three! Come on, look lively!" Four, five, six!"

They jumped, again and again – the carriers had a bad time of it, used to the long, drawn-out cruises of repositioning and redeployment. Only the battleships and cruisers enjoyed (actually _enjoyed_!) the exercise. Only two things in the world were guaranteed to get a battleship's blood up – early-morning exercise and the heat of furious battle.

Next came the dreaded push-ups, and here Victorious, struggling under all the strains and pains, collapsed. A general laugh arose as Victorious tried to raise herself up again. Warspite walked over and prodded the prostrate carrier with her foot.

"And what do we have here? Slacking? So quickly? Get up, Victorious! We did not come so far to have you fall without the presence of an enemy!" More giggling.

"I can't do it, Warspite… I can't…" the prone carrier murmured.

"A disgraceful display!" Warspite crowed, continuing to nudge her with the cap of her boot. "Up you get, up you get!" This time the battleship bent down and picked Victorious up easily as if she was only a feather.

"The rest of you, another ten! Call them out so I can hear them!" The muffled giggling turned into distasteful murmurs as the ten others bent low. Warspite slung Victorious' arm over her shoulder and helped her to the hall.

In the distance they could hear the spirited calls - one, two, three! Victorious slipped out of the battleship's grip and slumped onto a nearby bunk. She lay senseless as Warspite crouched beside her and performed all the usual checks for pulse and breath.

"Lazy, lazy, lazy." The battleship tutted, shaking her silky-blonde hair slowly. "I never knew a carrier so unfit to carry her burden."

Even in her near-faint state Victorious managed a weak smile. Her lips parted.

"Yet… her arrows fly true time and again," she murmured.

Warspite shut her eyes. She remembered the battles in the North Sea, in the service of the Home Fleet. Despite the great and terrible violence that had torn squadrons asunder, and the loss of the popular cruisers Shropshire and Tiger and countless innocent destroyers, she could only remember the constant drone of airborne fighters. It was a noise that still echoed in her ear.

"You are right, Victorious," Warspite conceded, opening her eyes. "But what good are your arrows without your own life? How do you expect to preserve your life without some effort towards your own physical well-being?"

"I'll tell you, dear Warspite," Victorious whispered. She beckoned with her finger. The battleship leaned in close to receive the whispered answer.

When the carrier had finished, Warspite drew back. Her face was a pale mask of frozen emotion. "I… How-"

"The Admiral was kind enough to confide in me of this," Victorious said. "You must understand, of course."

"Understand?" Warspite, in a rare lapse of resolve, looked confused. "This is madness, Victorious. I cannot begin to comprehend-"

"Don't, then. Knowing is good enough."

Warspite fell silent. The silence between them lingered uneasily in the air, as one tried to figure out the meaning of another's convictions. The other rested easy, knowing her secrets would be carried on.

Ten! Warspite looked up and out the open door of the hall. "I must go this second, Victorious. I'll- I'll talk to you later." The battleship stood and hurried out of the hall. Victorious could hear her furious calls as strength returned to her limbs, and she raised herself into a sitting position.

* * *

_A plea from the author:_

You may have come to the end of this chapter perhaps wondering what secrets Victorious gave away, or you may have been sorely disappointed by the lackluster ending. But let me tell you this in earnest – the adventures I have written, in the world of Ark, Scheer, and Montana, have been adventures for myself in their own right.

What does this mean, you ask? Well, in the same way an athlete might see a hurdle as a challenge; I see these chapters as my own challenges, each to be conquered and triumphed over. But what are challenges without challengers to my victories?

Here we come to the focus of my problem. I understand that you, the reader, may have reservations about voicing your opinions about these stories. Perhaps you are aggrieved over the irregular lengths of time that I take to write and publish. Or perhaps you don't care for it at all. But regardless of your reasons, I want to hear from you.

As that great bard once wrote, "There's nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so." The truth is that I thrive on feedback, good or bad. Your comments, your criticisms, and your praises are all equally welcome. Write a short review, leave me a message, or even talk to others about how you hate or like these stories. At this point it would not be unfair to say that I am begging for such things.

Thank you for reading!


	8. Land of the Long White Cloud

For an expanse of water that is one-half of the mind-bogglingly huge expanse of water that is the Pacific Ocean, crossing it seemed like a bore to the girls of the British East Asia Expeditionary Fleet. Even Ark was pining for some sort of Abyssal encounter to relieve to monotony. In jest, of course, for no-one ever knew what might come out of an encounter with those aliens.

The only event of any note was crossing the paths of some wayward whales, which scattered on their approach. Some launched themselves into the air and delighted the destroyers. The others, however, remained aloof and concentrated only on the long journey.

The distance between Cape Horn and an English civilization in the Pacific (in this case, New Zealand) is seven thousand seven hundred and fifty-seven kilometres. What Ark and Georgie knew from their pub discussions with old veterans was that this was the famed clipper route – the route which in the age of sail afforded the Empire the greatest travel time between the southern colonies: South Africa, Australia and New Zealand.

But what Ark and Holles had planned from the very beginning was to subvert the normal route – instead of travelling eastwards to Australia, they would travel westwards and avoid known Abyssal strongholds in the Indian Ocean. They would brave the icebergs, violent winds and treacherous seas of the Roaring Forties and aim for the haven of New Zealand.

In this, they succeeded without a hitch. In the next storm-tossed month where the endurance and patience of the entire fleet was tested, their nerves and strength held up incredibly well to whatever Nature could throw at them. This was a test far greater than any battle or any exercise, and their reward was seeing, after that cold month, the verdant coastline of New Zealand before them.

No words were spoken as the twelve navigated the approaches into Wellington – they were far too tired for talking. Ark pointed out the navigational landmarks while Warspite led the rest into the sound.

Welcoming sounds could be heard as they cruised into the harbour: the buzz of a pair of aircraft overhead, the saluting cannon of the nearby fort. The men in the fishing trawlers took off their hats and waved enthusiastically as they passed, cheering them on towards the piers.

On the piers a great crowd of citizens had gathered at the quay, streamers and flags waving in abundance in their midst. At the forefront stood the blue-suited Admiral, and standing beside him were six girls.

Still standing tall despite her age, New Zealand, the ancient battlecruiser, stood beside the Admiral. The Admiral himself was a slim, good-looking man with aquiline features, with nothing in his bearing or composure to indicate the stresses of his high position.

Beside the battlecruiser New Zealand stood Achilles, sister to Leander and Exeter whom the fleet had just left behind. And beside her was Leander herself, dressed for the occasion in her ceremonial uniform of navy blue and gold braid. And as if to complete the set another member of the Leander sisterhood, Gambia, stood right next to her.

On the Admiral's other side, however, two girls of a completely different set stood waiting. Looking somewhat haughty but nevertheless pleased with their arrival stood the Dido-class cruiser Black Prince, and beside her was Bellona, another Dido-class, all smiles as Warspite nursed Ark and the rest onto the piers.

Navy personnel rushed forward to help the girls unstrap and unbuckle their gear noiselessly and efficiently. But even as their heavy equipment were being carried away, Ark. Warspite and Georgie found themselves confronted by a phalanx of fierce, war-painted warriors – Maori warriors, without a doubt. They screamed war cries and feinting towards the assembled fleet, one by one, until the last warrior in the rank leapt forward and placed a painted leaf on the ground.

The solemn voice of the Admiral came from behind the warriors as they brandished their spears meaningfully. "Do you come as friends? Or foes?"

Ark stepped forward, but Georgie put out an arm to stop her. "Leave this to me, Ark."

Georgie stepped forward, mere inches away from the tips of the native spears. "We come as representatives of Great Britain, and we come bearing gifts." The whole quayside was silent as she said this.

The Admiral was silent for a moment. Then-

"_Haera mai, nga manuhiri tuarangi!"_ he cried, and in an instant the Maoris lifted their spears and parted. "The _wero _has been satisfied. Pass, friends. You may step on the _marae-atea._"

The Maori warriors stood stock still as Warspite led the rest of the girls forward. On closer inspection they saw that the Admiral wore a flax skirt over his normal uniform – it was only as Ark shook hands with him did she see the greenstone pendant hung around his neck.

"Welcome to New Zealand, Ark Royal and friends. I am Commodore Halsey Green, commander of the base here. I trust that you are not too tired to enjoy our hospitality?"

Ark smiled. "Of course not, sir."

Commodore Green beckoned them with a wave of his hand. "Come, then, friends. We Maori are not a people to be kept waiting!"

* * *

Commodore Green sat at the head of the table in the splendid dining hall, while Ark and the rest seated themselves. Atop the platform the New Zealand girls sat on one side next to the Commodore – taking the cue, Georgie gestured the others to sit on the opposing side. The Maori sat in groups along the walls

As they settled themselves in, Commodore Green spoke. "Friends, we are honoured by your presence here. Your mere presence tells us of a journey that will make a fine tale in the years to come. I know your journey is not yet complete, but let us celebrate regardless!"

Ark, as the nominal head of the fleet, replied. "Thank you, sir, for your words of welcome. We've indeed come many miles to be here and endured much hardship - but we shan't bore you with details. Cheviot, present the gift!"

The curly-haired destroyer stood and took from her knapsack a canvas package, which she handed to the Commodore. He unwrapped it, and a great gasp arose from those Maori seated nearby as the canvas fell away. It was a _mere pounamu, _the greenstone club – the ultimate symbol of chieftainship in Maori culture. Commodore Green stared at it in wonder and amazement, and the Maoris chattered excitedly to one another.

"How did you come by this?" the Commodore asked.

"This is the _mere _belonging to an ancient chieftain who visited England in the 18th century. He died there, but not before he was able to pass it on to an officer he befriended during his stay. That officer passed the _mere_ down with his family, and its former owner is currently a senior officer with the Royal Navy."

"And I suppose he cannot return himself, given the current state of affairs?"

"Correct, sir." Ark smiled wistfully. "He voiced his concern about not being able to return it personally – and considering his age he feels that it would be better to return it here just in case-"

"Who is this officer?" Green asked, with a sense of foreboding rising within him.

Ark's smile thinned, and she looked at him sadly. "Why, sir, it is your own father, Sir Thomas Green."

His fears realised, Commodore Green sat back, a lump rising in his throat. His father was alive, but dying. He could not picture his father at that moment – nor did he want to imagine him sprawling on a hospital bed, breathing his last breaths.

"Thank you for this gift, friends," he said at last, his voice like a rumbling storm in the distance. "But now is not the time for sombre reflection. You have travelled far to bring me this wondrous gift, and now – now, we celebrate!"

And a fantastic celebration it was. Maori men and women danced to the drums and flutes of their kinsfolk, revelling like no British girl had ever seen before. And the food – it never seemed to end, the long procession of roast mutton, potatoes, sweet white bread and native vegetables. Ark and the rest filled themselves long and gloriously, the cold memories of the last wintry month washing away like the downing of a glass of rum.

Miraculously, as the revels died away Ark and the rest found themselves curiously clear-minded and light, and were able to be guided, silently, to their appointed bunks by a pair of heavily-tattooed Maori warriors. They crashed on them, and like branches falling into an unending sea, drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When they woke, they experienced no adverse effects of the night before. And what was more, the two warriors that had led them to their beds had stood guard the whole night – they showed no sign of fatigue, and saluted when they filed out of their dormitory.

Outside, they met Leander idling by a tree. Seeing the group approach, the slim, good-looking cruiser sprang towards them. She had short, golden hair and teetered back and forth on the balls of her feet as she regarded them with a smile as bright as the sun above.

"Hey, there! The Commodore told me to show you to the mess, so if you all won't mind, follow me please!" Leander turned around and skipped down the path, while everyone else followed.

The mess hall was a trimmed, wooden building, much like the one they had left behind in the Falklands, but larger and more ornately carved around the eaves. Two tattooed sentries sprang to attention as Ark's group filed inside after Leander.

Commodore Green at the head of the long table inside, chatting amicably with Achilles while New Zealand and Bellona sipped and gossiped. The fare was simple and filling – toast, butter and tea. The scrubbed windows filtered in the morning light while atop one wall the aloof, unsmiling portrait of King George VI stared down at them. On either side of him were two smaller portraits, one of the elderly King George V and another of a handsome rear-admiral, presumably the previous commander.

"Ah, Ark!" the Commodore called, gesturing down the table. "Do make yourselves comfortable, the food's off to the side."

The newcomers filled their plates and then sat at the long table. Before long Warspite and Georgie were chatting gaily with New Zealand, swapping tales of their long and illustrious service histories. Sirius and Penelope made themselves known to Bellona, the senior Dido-class cruiser, and had no trouble at all talking about their experiences and reminiscing about 'back home'.

While the destroyers consumed their mountains of toast, the Commodore signaled Ark with a beckon. Ark sidled over.

"Ark Royal, I hope that this is not too sudden –perhaps the Maori techniques may not have been as effective – but how would you like to pit your girls against ours? A friendly match, so we say?"

"Of course, sir. Textbook training battle, I suppose?"

"Six against six, how does that sound?"

"Very good, sir."

The Commodore smiled. "Our girls need a bit of a refresher course in battle tactics. Can never be too prepared, I always say."

So as it happened, Ark found herself picking the members of her team. Lion, predictably, objected strongly to the test – and consequently found herself on the team. Berwick and Penelope followed, and the three destroyers rounded out the team.

On the other side, the Commodore had no such luxury of choice. New Zealand was placed at their head, and Ark's girls watched with mixed consternation and wonder as the old battleship walked past decked out in a bristling array of twelve-inch guns. Achilles, Leander, Gambia, Bellona and Black Prince followed, all looking grim and determined.

The two teams squared off against each other by the dockside, and as the Commodore walked forward to lay down the rules twelve hands shot up simultaneously in salute. Even with the distance and time between them the old colonials kept in sync with the girls of the home country.

"This will be a training match as per the rules laid down by the Manual of Sea Warfare edition 1946, chapter seventeen. Both sides will report group status every half-hour, and will use only prescribed NP-class shells. The carrier Victorious will be acting as observer – Warspite and King George V will be patrolling the boundaries." The Commodore glanced around at the stolid faces. They all looked straight ahead, not daring to give the other side an inch. "Teams, prepare to deploy!"

The British girls wheeled left, and the New Zealanders wheeled right. They trooped down onto the piers in silence and checked their equipment. Safeties were switched off and rigging was tightened. Radios came alive as the team commanders, Lion for the British and New Zealand for the home girls, switched them on and began testing.

"Team Black, deploy!"

"Yes, sir!"

New Zealand stepped onto the water and glided serenely forward, followed by Bellona and Black Prince. The rest of the New Zealanders slid onto the water equally as graceful. Within half an hour they were mere specks on the horizon.

"Team White, deploy!"

"Yes, sir!"

Lion hopped onto the eddying waters, flanked by Berwick and Penelope. Cheviot led Charity and Childers forward to the rear.

"Observer, begin!"

"Yes, sir."

Victorious drew her bow and shot out a mottled grey and white arrow, which transformed shortly after into a Sea Hurricane. The Hurricane climbed up and droned away, soon become nothing more than a speck in the clouds.

The Commodore brought the radio close. "Teams, you have ten minutes to prepare your positions. Warspite and King George V will fire powder shot to signal the start of the battle." He turned to Ark, who stood close by, looking calm at the proceedings. "What do you think, Ark? Who will prevail today?"

"Hard to say, sir. Your girls know these waters better than we do, but I think we may have the upper hand in terms of experience. We won't know until the smoke clears."

* * *

Out on the waters, Lion wasted no time in marshalling her formation. The destroyers she held back in reserve, in their own little group, while Berwick led Penelope in their own small section. Lion stood alone in the centre.

New Zealand, on the other hand, did not subscribe as readily to the same time-honoured tactics. Through their long service in New Zealand, the Maoris had taught them much of the sea, in addition to their base training. They would give their far-flung brethren a taste of their own way of fighting.

Warspite and Georgie looked on from the approaches of Cook Strait, with their own Walrus scouts circling above, keeping a sharp lookout for any would-be Abyssal intruder.

"Warspite, Gerogie, fire powder barrage!" the Commodore ordered over their radios.

The two battleships turned inwards facing the battlefield. Sliding just charges into their gun breeches, there followed a massive roar, and at once, the battle was on.

Lion dragged the rest of her group alongside as she manoeuvred to starboard, keeping her gun turrets trained on the distant specks on the horizon. Sirius and Penelope followed on her port-side rear , while Cheviot led her sisters close by in a spearhead formation ahead of her.

The report of guns could be heard, and almost instinctively the destroyers swerved slightly to starboard, as if afraid, but a sharp word from Lion brought them back into line.

"Keep in formation, Cheviot! They can't hurt us from there; they're well out of range!"

Sure enough, the shells splashed harmlessly several hundred yards to port. The guns boomed distantly again – and again the same, harmless splashes.

"They're testing their range," Lion said to the rest dismissively. "We'll do the same once they close. Cheviot, bearing two-nine-five, prepare to engage!"

"Yes, ma'am!" The fleet steered slightly to port, maintaining good cohesion as they cruised. Berwick lifted aloft her rangefinder, while Penelope kept an eye on the radar.

"I have fifty thousand yards and closing… forty-nine and five… forty-nine…"

"Enemy formation detected. Standby… Team Black closing fast… formation ragged…"

Lion took all of this in. Typical of the New Zealanders to adopt such a clumsy and primitive strategy. Her triple turrets whirred into action as shot and powder were loaded, and the mini-servos cranked the guns up into firing position.

Another shower of harmless shells descended down to port, this time a little bit closer, but still way out of range. But unlike the previous two salvos some shells burst before they landed – and right before their eyes a dense smokescreen obscured their field of vision.

"Enemy fleet obscured!"

Lion did not turn. "Last known range and bearing?"

"Forty-five, closing at approximately fifteen knots."

"Penelope, anything on the radar?"

"Interference… no signatures detected."

Lion thought for a moment, only to have her thoughts disrupted by another quick barrage of shells, this time falling uncomfortably close to Sirius, who swerved slightly to avoid them.

"They think they're so clever… oh, just you wait, New Zealand." Lion turned to the destroyers. "Cheviot, break off!"

"Yes, ma'am!" The destroyer wheeled over to starboard and began to distance themselves from Lion.

"I have contact!" Penelope said, her voice charged with excitement. "Two units, breaking cover!"

But before Lion could take breath or snap an order out, Bellona and Gambia broke free of the smoke, their guns trained on Lion.

"Bugger!"

The two light cruisers fired. But the shells, already unstable from their quick movement, flew wildly, and none struck Lion. Before the battleship could train her own guns on them, they vanished back into the smoke.

"Cheviot, fire into the smoke, harassing fire!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

A pitter-patter of shells came raining down on the smoke, none hitting anything but preventing anything from moving out of the smoke.

Just as Lion regained her composure, Penelope called out again. "Contact! Two units, rear port!"

This time Lion had her guns vaguely in that direction – without hesitation she fired three of her guns. The shells sailed wide, but the sheer force of the resulting cores of water caused the smoke to billow slightly, and two shadows, no doubt two of their cruisers, retreated back into the smoke. This gave Lion an idea, an idea so obvious she chastised herself mildly for forgetting to thinking of it.

"Berwick, Penelope, load the airburst shell!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Lion licked her lips and laid her other guns. The destroyers kept up their unrelenting fire while her own cruisers prepared to fire.

"Cheviot, prepare for general attack!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Cheviot, Childers, and Charity closed in, maintaining their fire all the way.

"Guns laid, ma'am!"

"Guns laid, ma'am!"

"Fire!"

The cruisers fired their guns in unison, blasts with a little louder voice than the sharp barks of the destroyers. The shells sailed into the air, their fuses winding down fast. They came down squarely on the smoke and detonated.

A sharp gust of wind erupted, sweeping aside the smoke like a broom against dust – and there, caught in the middle of preparing another attack, were the enemy cruisers. They froze as their aegis drifted away.

Lion's own guns roared without delay, a cascading storm that rained sixteen-inch paint shells down on the surprised New Zealanders. One struck Black Prince and with an anguished cry was immediately drenched in blue powder dye as the shell exploded on impact.

"Team White to base, we have a confirmed hit on light cruiser Black Prince, request aerial confirmation…"

"Base to Team Black, Black Prince is to withdraw from the battlefield immediately…"

Sullen and disappointed, Black Prince turned and sailed back to base, but not before Achilles took up the old rallying war-cry of the Maori and charged forward with the remaining cruisers.

But Lion was ready for this. "Cheviot, swing to port!"

The destroyers nosed forward, their quick-firing four-pounders still raining down a cascade of shells on the rapidly advancing enemy. Valves hissed as they got into torpedo range and the dye-filled torpedoes swam.

Berwick and Penelope answered the Leander's gunnery with some of their own, but alas, their streak of luck was not to continue.

Out of nowhere, a twelve-inch shell came screaming down on the unsuspecting British cruisers, splashing down between the two. Then another, then another. Lion scanned the field frantically, all while her own sixteen-inch main guns fired again and again at the charging New Zealanders.

One shell from the mass of cruisers struck Penelope, dousing her in red dye. She was sent off. But by now the destroyers had closed to near-point-blank range, and their shells, albeit still slightly erratic, began to fall closer and closer onto the furious New Zealanders.

Leander broke slightly away from her three companions and began firing on the advancing destroyers. One lucky shot hit Childers square in the face, and the red-haired destroyer peeled away, clutching her dye-soaked face in agony. The other destroyers recoiled from their attack, and no amount of cajoling by Lion could get them to resume their attack.

"Childers will leave the field now for immediate attention," the radio called. The weeping destroyer, accompanied by Charity, left the battle. Now it was only Lion, Berwick and Cheviot up against five.

"All units, regroup! Cheviot, lay down some smoke!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

The smokescreen was duly launched, and the three vanished into it. Lion could still hear New Zealand still blasting away at them somewhere in the distance. Her cruisers, however, Lion could only guess at.

"All units, line astern, line astern," Lion ordered quietly. "Berwick, rangefinder. Cheviot, radar!"

The cruiser and destroyer silently obeyed. Berwick lifted her antenna to the sky, while Cheviot turned on her fleet rangekeeper. Lion set the course and slipped quietly to the north-west.

New Zealand let her guns cool as she surveyed the scene. Black Prince had been lost, yes, but in exchange for three of theirs. A favourable trade. Her tactics were working, and no doubt Lion was feeling the pressure now.

"Permission to pursue, New Zealand?" Achilles asked over the radio.

"No, Achilles, do not pursue. Form up into closest pairs and await my signal." New Zealand lifted her binoculars and peered at the smoke. In the meantime Achilles paired up with Gambia, and Bellona with Leander.

"Good shooting on those destroyers, Leander."

"Thanks, ma'am."

"We're going to fire on them the moment they leave that smoke. Achilles, Gambia, take the left flank. Bellona, Leander, watch the centre. They've not enough room to wheel about without us seeing them."

"I'm bored already," Gambia said. "Can't we just nab them now?"

"Patience, dear Gambia. Lion would love us to charge into that smoke and get caught up at extreme close range. At that range her guns will hit true with every shot. Remember, one direct hit from her sixteens is an instant out."

"Oh, alright," Gambia grumpily replied.

"Keep a sharp eye out, girls, and victory will be ours before-"

New Zealand couldn't quite finish her little gloat as Lion's guns roared out of the smoke, and the water beneath Bellona suddenly erupted into an enormous explosion of water. So sudden and so violent was the salvo that the radio announced Bellona eliminated even before the water had fallen and settled back down.

"What?! But sir-"

"The judge's ruling is final, New Zealand," the Commodore replied. "Bellona was straddled so close with that barrage. A barrage like that would knock out even a battleship."

New Zealand fumed as Bellona sulkily left the field. Then a horrible realization hit her – a revelation that caused her to curse her own oversight. Lion had stumbled across their own trump card, and now she was making them pay for it.

"All units, evasive action!" New Zealand shouted down the radio, but too late – the sixteen-inchers roared out again, and this time Gambia managed an expletive before being engulfed in water. The Commodore declared her out as well.

The other cruisers managed to turn about and begin a retreat back to New Zealand. However, Lion was not content to let them get away so cleanly. Charging out of the smoke in their own death-or-glory manoeuvre, Berwick and Cheviot emerged from the smoke, guns blazing.

"Fall back! Fall back!" New Zealand frantically ordered. Her own guns thundered out in an effort to hit or at least slow down the British girls. But nothing could have prevented Cheviot from firing her proximity torpedoes in an ensnarement pattern directly at the evading cruisers. The net of slithering torpedoes trapped Achilles and one torpedo got close enough to detonate, showering the Leander-class cruiser with blue dye.

Now Lion emerged from the smoke, a smile playing around her lips. As Achilles broke off, muttering curses under her breath, New Zealand caught sight of the grinning battleship and felt rage flowing hotly in her veins.

The twelve-inch guns blasted another salvo, this time aimed at Lion. Lion turned to port and returned with her own salvo of nine. Between them Leander traded six-inch shells with Berwick, while Cheviot charged at New Zealand, taking the opportunity for another torpedo attack.

"Oh no you don't!" Before Cheviot could even load a torpedo, New Zealand's twelve-inch guns swivelled to greet her with a simultaneous blast. The little destroyer was overwhelmed by the monstrous explosion, and the Commodore ordered her out of the battle.

Now it was even again, with Leander furiously broadsiding with Berwick, the latter of which gritted her teeth and returned fire without hesitation. Even Warspite and Georgie, at the boundaries of the battle, looked on with interest as the duelling rose to a tremendous pitch.

But the rapidity of six-inch salvos being fired paled in comparison to the awesome duel that now opened up between New Zealand and Lion. While the battlecruiser fired quicker salvos of lighter shells, Lion responded with her own throaty sixteen-inch shells. Both capital ships circled each other, their respective cruisers paying only the barest amount of attention to keeping formation.

"Take this! And this!" New Zealand cried above the din of battle, as her eight twelve-inch guns belted out another barrage.

"Is that the best you can do?" Lion taunted, as the twelve-inch shells splashed all around her. The massive sixteen-inch gun turrets whirred, clanged and boomed again.

New Zealand checked her ammunition counter. It was starting to run low, and despite the close range in which they were fighting none of their shells had managed to score any meaningful hits. Lion's was beginning to give out as well.

"Why? Why, why, why?!" Lion admonished herself, as another salvo flew true but fell short of New Zealand. "One hit, that's all I need!"

The Indefatigable-class battlecruiser on the other side fired again. The shells sailed wide, but instead they struck Berwick, covering her with dye. A definite elimination, but she did not rejoice. Lion was still there, and as long as those monstrous guns kept firing there would be no victory.

Lion was only slightly crestfallen at the departure of her last ally, for her attention was focused fully on knocking out New Zealand. Lion's pursed lips became a gritted snarl as she tried every trick in the tactical manual, but the serene old warship continued to dodge at high speed and continue firing her own salvos. She didn't even react with surprise or relief when one of her shells, in an ironic twist, hit Leander dead-on and knocked her out of the battle.

Finally it came down to the last twenty-odd shells on both sides. Ark and Victorious, watching from the base's own operations room, were impressed with the reports Warspite gave of the fighting. Those still steady from being eliminated watched with absorbed interest as a lull in the fighting presented itself, as both sides stopped firing to give themselves time to ponder.

"I've got her," New Zealand said to herself. "She's inexperienced and won't stand a chance against what I'll throw next…"

"Pathetic shooting," Lion thought scornfully. "Those twelves shouldn't be harder to aim than my heavy sixteens – she's gotten rusty. I'll play this last card, and nab her when she least expects it…"

With a sudden, ululating war cry New Zealand charged forward. Lion also powered head on to meet her. All the spectators held their breath.

Another smokescreen erupted just before they entered striking range, obscuring both battleships from sight. The blast of cannon could be heard within the smoke, and some swore later they could hear the clashing and clanging of metal striking metal.

An easterly breeze blew, and slowly, the smoke drifted away. Both battleships stood close to each other, bruised, sore, but most surprisingly… unstained.

Lion looked down at her counter. Behind her she could hear nothing but the battlecruiser panting, trying to regain her breath. Neither of their turrets stirred or moved – there was no need too. They were both out of ammunition.

"All units, report on ammunition status."

"Empty, sir."

"Empty."

A short pause. Then the Commodore came back on. "Draw!"

The spectators on the quayside cheered and applauded as both battleships returned, sailing abreast of each other. They were met by their team-mates and mobbed. Lion managed a weak smile as she was promptly buried by the cheering destroyers, while New Zealand was hoisted up on the shoulders of her cruisers.

The Commodore came down to meet them. He was smiling at both teams, and beside him, Ark wore the first genuine smile in months.

"Well done, girls!" the Commodore said. The two battleships were allowed to stand, and saluted as he walked forward.

"A magnificent battle, Lion. Why, I haven't seen a fight of that power in all my years…! Ark, you have truly picked the right girls for this mission." The Commodore bowed slightly to the carrier beside her.

"I have all the very best, sir. And now this battle has shown me how right I was to bring Lion along." Ark smiled at Lion, who felt herself blush with embarrassment. "Excellent work, Lion!"

"Oh, well, just doing what I do best, I suppose…" As she tried to look modest, she idly fingered the brass locket around her neck.

"Well, for such a new ship, you seem to be doing quite well. But what are we standing here for? We've got lunch to settle first!"

A hearty cheer shook the air, and arms linking with each other, British and New Zealander girl alike trooped off to the mess.


	9. Across the Tasman Sea

The sticks clattered and clacked as the women tapped them hard on the wooden floor; turning to each other, the Maori women threw them deftly to each other – a tap there, toss, _clack, clack, _toss again. All the while they sang their song:

"_E pāpā Waiari,  
Taku nei mahi  
Taku nei mahi,  
He tuku roimata…_"

Commodore Green sat the head of the audience, smiling broadly at the dextrous display. Next to him Ark sat quietly watching, with the rest of the British fleet beside her.

"_Ē aue, ka mate au;  
E hine hoki mai rā  
Ē aue, ka mate au;  
E hine hoki mai rā…_"

_Clack, clack. _The Maori women, smiling all the way, continued with their melodious song.

"_Māku e kaute_  
_Ō hīkoitanga_  
_Māku e kaute_  
_Ō hīkoitanga_._"_

The Maori performers grinned, and raised their _titirorea _to mark the end of the performance. Ark and the fleet applauded heartily as the Maori women left the stage.

It was the fleet's fourth day in Wellington. Though treated as honoured guests of the base as well as the land, Ark and the rest of the senior girls had been busy lending help to the New Zealand girls in updating their information as well as training them in the latest manoeuvres.

But today Commodore Green treated his guests to a private native performance, as the fifth day was the day of their departure. The men and women of _Te Āti Awa _knew of their impending departure, and knowing only of the power the fleet girls held that protected their lands from the encroachments of the Abyssal _tautangata, _resolved to grace their departure with as much splendour as possible.

The next performance began – a pair of Maori warriors that handled flaming _poi_ in an elaborate and daring sparring match. The warriors shouted and yelled war cries at each other, twirling the blazing _poi _at such a speed it seemed as though spirits of fire danced with them.

The destroyer girls gasped and cheered as the two warriors lunged and darted to and fro, their flaming weapons always just inches short of tangling with each other.

"Ark," Commodore Green whispered across to the quiet carrier, as the other girls watched the performance intently. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay here?"

Ark was silent for a moment. Then she turned her head imperceptibly towards the commodore.

"It has been a delightful few days, sir," Ark said, smiling slightly at the memories of the past few days. "It is easy to forget we still have a long journey ahead of us. But tomorrow our happy times here will come to an end."

"Yes, well…" the Commodore looked uneasy at the mention of their departure. "Ark, if I may…"

"Yes, Commodore?" Ark queried, half her attention on the whirling flames.

"I know your group have a mission to fulfil," the Commodore continued to whisper, his voice below even the gasps of the awestruck girls. "And we will release you to do that duty. But, if I may suggest to you…"

"You want us to exchange units, sir?" Ark interrupted.

The Commodore was taken aback at Ark's bluntness. "Yes, but not in so straightforward a manner-"

"I'm afraid we cannot exchange any units from this fleet to the service of your station, sir." Ark coolly replied. "It would be a direct contravention of our assigned orders."

The Commodore was silent. His attention turned back to the warriors, whose flaming _poi _began to slow down. One by one, they were extinguished, and the performance ended.

The other British girls murmured sounds of approval as they rose. The Commodore quickly regained his composure and beamed at the other girls, all the while not looking at Ark.

The day passed into night without another significant event. Though given free rein to visit any place in Wellington, the girls of the British Second Pacific Fleet preferred to stay in and prepare for the next leg of the journey.

Ark sat in her own cubicle, calmly reviewing the mission details with papers pinned on the cubicle walls and laid neatly around her. She studied the latest tidal reports and scrutinized the weather predictions closely.

The battleships sat at a green-baize table in one corner, playing whist under a single light bulb with the blackouts up on the windows. Victorious sat with them, but the other three eyed her with suspicion.

The destroyer sisters slept snugly in their bunks. Penelope lay on one bunk reading on her side. Berwick also slept.

"Trumps are hearts," Lion declared quietly, flipping over the last card dealt to her. The rest of the hand was played in silence.

"Seven to six. That's four-one to us." Warspite muttered as the hand ended.

"Feh, I could have done with better if-"

"You'll say no such thing, considering we've yet to have payback for that little incident at Port Stephens," Georgie cut across the startled Victorious. With vicious hands she began to shuffle the deck again.

Victorious blushed. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeves as a gesture of goodwill. The others were not convinced.

"Say, what should our payback be, friends?" Lion asked airily.

Warspite and Georgie turned to look at Victorious, whose face turned a deeper shade of red. Georgie stopped shuffling and set the cards down.

"Now, now, friends…."

"Did you hear that, Georgie?" Warspite said in a mocking, incredulous tone, turning to her with a smile. "She called us 'friends'."

"But we are, aren't we?" Victorious asked tentatively.

"I know!" Georgie piped up with a playful grin. "How about the old boiled egg? Haven't done that one in a while, have we?"

"I- I-"

"Good idea, Georgie. Now, whether or not she will co-operate-"

But it was too late. Victorious, fearing for her safety quickly rose and began to run towards the door. The others rose violently and began to give chase.

The carrier looked behind, and for a split second, was blind to Ark's outstretched leg. With a muffled shriek Victorious toppled over Ark's notes. This was just enough time for Lion and Georgie to catch up and haul Victorious up by the arms.

Warspite walked demurely over. Ark gave her a questioning look, but it was one without disapproval. Warspite thought she could even see the lines of a thin smile.

Victorious looked desperately at Ark, then to Warspite, then back to Ark. "Ark, please-"

Warspite gave Ark a meaningful look. The silver-haired carrier looked back down at her notes and straightened them idly.

"As long as you don't make too much noise," Ark said quietly.

Lion and Georgie grinned at each other. Victorious turned pale and shut her eyes in despair.

"Come on, here we go-"

"Vicky, you're not going to sleep well tonight-"

The three battleships hauled Victorious out of the hall, shutting the door behind them.

Outside in the total darkness the girls dragged Victorious to where complete black met the starry horizon. With a strong heave they threw her into the water, making a great splash.

"Feeling refreshed yet, Vicky?" Lion called. The other two giggled under their breaths.

"You-" Victorious was interrupted as a small rolling wave buffeted her, and she spluttered seawater when it subsided.

"Alright, that's enough," Warspite said. Taking a coil of rope from the water's edge she threw the line out, and pulled the sodden carrier in.

They carried her to the nearby shower stalls, which were devoid of any others. While Lion and Warspite returned to the dormitory, Georgie stayed behind to help.

The hiss of the hot water drowned out all other sounds as Georgie prodded the shivering Victorious into the shower. The icy chill of Wellington harbour was washed away.

Victorious showered in silence, while Georgie waited patiently off to one side.

"Soap," Victorious called, and at once Georgie thrust her arm into the cubicle, with soap in hand. Instead, there was a muffled shriek as Victorious pulled the unsuspecting battleship in.

Georgie's uniform became drenched immediately under the hot shower. The battleship could only make out a weird glint in the carrier's eye before she closed in…

* * *

The fifth day arrived. Over the horizon a flushed pink hue stretched as far as the eye could see. It was on this backdrop that the large party made its way to the central pier.

Song lifted the air, and within each heart of the British Second Pacific Fleet a warm glow spread as they found comfort within the charming melody of the Maori islanders as well as the smooth voices of the New Zealand Squadron:

"_Pō atarau_

_E moea iho nei_

_E haere ana _

_koe ki pāmama…__"_

Some danced, others strode forward in time with the girls. Commodore Green walked at the head of the procession, with his girls arm in arm with the departing British girls.

"_Haere rä  
Ka hoki mai anö  
Ki i te tau  
E tangi atu nei." _

"_Now is the hour  
For me to say goodbye…"_

The party reached the quay. There a mixed regiment of uniformed guards as well as a war-band of wildly painted Maori warriors stood rigidly to attention, bayonets and spears tall and straight in stiff salute. The Maori women stayed behind while the New Zealand girls followed their sisters to the end of the pier.

The song continued unabated as each British girl shook hands and kissed the Commodore on the cheek as they hopped off into the water. Without any perfunctory order the fleet began its slow cruise out of Wellington.

Behind them they could still hear snatches of the farewell song:

_"While you're away _

_Oh please remember me_

_When you return_

_You'll find me waiting here…"_

The faint cheers of the farewell party mingled with the keening cry of wayward kestrels, and within minutes all that anyone could see of New Zealand was a green and brown smudge below a great white cloud.

The last strains of song died away. All that remained was the sounds of the never-ending ocean wash, and the slicing surf of the girls' wakes.

All faces turned to the west. Before them lay 1,300 miles of the Tasman Sea, untraversed for so many years.

"Squadron, formation B, maintain cruising speed, bearing zero-three-two-four." The ten ships of the squadron tacked slightly against the wind, maintaining the concentric formation.

The wind rose. As it did each girl's heart sank, for they knew what was coming. Dark grey clouds gathered, and the rumble of thunder could be heard.

Warspite put her whistle to her lips and blew hard. Three short bursts per bar and a rest, then again. The outermost circle tightened inwards, keeping each other in sight as the first curtain of black rain fell upon them.

The cold savaged them as they plodded on west. Pennants fluttered angrily on their lines and signal lights flickered as the fleet continued onwards. Their speed slowed to ten knots as they struggled to keep together, let alone hold their formation.

"Warspite to all ships, closing visual marking range to a quarter of a mile!" the old battleship shouted down the mike. "All ships will close the formation on my mark – three, two- argh!"

Warspite was knocked aside by the rising swell, and the screeching wind drowned out her curses. But as ordered, the girls closed their formation up and locked their rudders. The other battleships skidded backwards and helped Warspite back up.

"Warspite! Are you okay?!" Georgie yelled.

"I'm fine! Just fine! Curse this damned storm-"

"Come on, up you get, up you get!"

Others shouted encouragement above the din of the furious squall, but their words barely reached the ears of the comrades. The only thing they could do was to hold on, and wait.

Lightning arced freely across the darkened sky and rain fell so thickly that it overpowered any attempt by any girl to set up their tarpaulin covers. Cheviot lost her raincoat while trying to pull it out, the violent winds tearing it from her hands.

The whole fleet shivered miserably, but their formation held and the storm soon subsided. It was night before the last clouds gave way to the brilliant waxing moon and the glittering empire of stars above.

"Fleet, status report," Ark called.

"Red section, no significant damage!"

"Green section, no significant damage!"

"Yellow section, no injuries!"

"Well, it could have been a lot worse," Victorious drily commented, as the girls squeezed rainwater out of their hair and tried to wring water out of their sodden clothes.

"Remember that squall off the Scillies, Georgie?" Warspite asked. "It blew up old Yorkie's skirt when we were hunting the Lizard raiders-"

"I remember that. Blew another great fuss when we touched down at Plymouth-"

"Alright, alright, that's enough chitchat, let's get a move on… now, where are we?" Warspite looked around them. It was dark all around, and the scattered remains of the storm obscured much of the sky.

"Cheviot, give us a sounding, everyone else on full watch!" Warspite opened her knapsack while the bedraggled destroyer activated her ASDIC system.

"Right, let's see…" Warspite opened the lid of the box chronometer. "And the gyro compass says… huh."

"Got our bearings yet, Warspite?" asked Ark.

"We're not very far off course," Warspite replied, stowing away her instruments. "A few degrees north of our expected route, changing our approach angle by nine to eleven degrees."

"Noted." Ark turned to the rest of the girls. "Fleet will adjust and correct course on Warspite's direction."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The fleet continued on west. As they cruised on the sky began to lighten as the sun began to rise, basking them in warm light.

It was sunset again by the time Childers spotted that familiar smudge of black on the horizon. Warspite ordered a halt and spied it out with binoculars. She lowered them, and nodded to Ark.

Ark raised her bow, pointed at the coast, and loosed a single shot.

* * *

_Garden Island_

It was a Saturday; many on the shore felt disinclined to attend to their duties on such a fine day. Even with the threat of storm clouds on the horizon many lounged about on deckchairs at their posts, lazily reading, smoking, playing cards (almost certainly illegal but nobody really minded, so long as you didn't brag), and in rarer moments, actually do something productive.

Even the commanding officer resigned himself to the easy-going nature of the day. He sat with all the windows open in his office, feet up on the finely-carved wooden desk, reading the _Sydney Morning Herald _with a pipe in one hand and a breeze-cooled bottle of beer in the other. Ice and kerosene were very dear in Sydney.

With the spring heat taking cues from its hotter brother the admiral had his jacket unfastened and his shoes and socks off. Saturday was meant to be family day, but with the wife out of town, there was no place but the office to relax.

Besides, he had his girls to care for.

He cast a glance at the readiness board. Every single girl was slotted as 'ashore'.

He sighed. Was it not already hard as the Honourable Vice Admiral Richard Dalrymple to run this base with units with as much care as the wayward gull?

_All off at the pub_, he thought to himself.

He wasn't completely right, though, for the destroyers, however welcome at the bar, disdained lager at their age. They were instead encamped at the Heads, having issued their own warrants and gear, were engaged in their own little survival exercise.

But he was right about the pub.

"Barman! Another round, if you please!" Cheers rose like the tide as the men surged forward to the beer-slicked bar, where grinning servers and tapsters poured their glasses and mugs full.

"Hold up, Canberra! Mr Tiller won't be very happy with this, you know-"

"It's alright, Australia!" The freckled face of Canberra emerged, flushed but beaming, from the throng of eager sailors and workmen. "It's a lovely day, isn't it, fellows! Come on! Drink up!" Again that overwhelming roar of cheers.

"Oh, let her alone, Australia," said Vengeance, who sat with two others at a table close to the action. "After all, that includes us as well, doesn't it?" The auburn-haired, pigtailed, lanky carrier grinned broadly and held up her own empty glass. "Be a darling and go fill this up for me, hey?"

"Mine too!" Perth piped up. Perth, a dour but dependable Leander-class cruiser, raised her glass as well.

"Christ, Vengeance, you're gonna make me work on Saturday? What kind of torturous thing are you?"

"Oh relax, Australia, it's not as if we're making you sortie," the last girl giggled. Her name was Hobart, another of Leander's improved brood, sporting long silver hair and a breezy personality that endeared her to many of the sailors. "My glass too, please!"

Grumbling under her breath, Australia snatched their glasses out of their hands and pushed her way to the bar.

"What's this? A triple lager for today, Australia?" taunted Canberra, resting on the backs of the sailors as they drank. "Surely you're not trying to beat dear Hobart, are you?"

"Put a lid on it, Canberra. Or else I'll have you posted to god-knows-where!"

The three glasses were filled, and Australia struggled back out the crowd to the waiting girls. Their grins broadened mockingly as they received their beers.

"Taaaah! Great stuff!" Hobart exclaimed. "So, Perth, what's the deal with this supposed arrival, then?"

"Hey, hey, hey, don't go shootin' yer mouth off about that," Perth admonished. "Can' say fer sure, but I swear I caught a glimpse of that Admiralty blue paper a few days ago…" She took a swig of beer, then continued. "I reckon it came through the transport DC a couple of days ago."

"Any word from the girls west?" asked Hobart, drinking in every word.

"No, they're doing their annuals this week; most of them are probably off on exercises."

"Well, I don't know much about any passing fleet, we're having enough trouble as it is beating off damn raiders," added Vengeance. "It'd be a sure relief to have them on our side, though-"

"Shh-h!" Australia quickly put a finger to her lips, and the rest of the pub quickly followed suit. A low droning sound could be heard.

The pub's door banged open. In rushed a clean-shaved man of twenty, flustered and jersey soaked in sweat.

"Everyone back to their stations! Come on, let's go!" There was a hubbub as glasses dropped, beers were downed and the tide of navy men swept across the tables and out the open door. The girls remained where they were, slightly stunned.

"Oi! You four! To you posts, now!" Australia, Canberra, Hobart, and Vengeance shook themselves awake and quickly left.

Back at the Admiral's office, eight girls stood fast on the carpet as their commander looked over them sternly. Gone was his carefree demeanour earlier in the day, and a serious expression was set on his face. The harsh light of the room lamps only served to put the Vice Admiral's severe features in harsher relief.

"The Admiralty sent me word of the arrival of the British Second Pacific Fleet more than a month ago," the Vice Admiral began, his tone level but cold. "I sent operational dossiers to each relevant department more than a week ago. Why have none of you acted upon it?"

There was a sheepish silence among the assembled Australian girls. Dalrymple, though normally easy-going and reasonable, was frightening in this state of tranquil fury.

"Now we have them standing by five miles off the Heads and we have no procedure for accommodating them!" Dalrymple shouted suddenly, his voice and temper rising sharply. "This is inexcusable sloth with the enemy so close to our shores! Do you not know how many letters I get from the districts urging for action? I should have you all on-"

"Sir! I am really quite sorry about this!" Australia blurted out, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, sir, let us hurry-"

"Hurry for what?" Dalrymple screeched, fixing the battlecruiser with a blazing eye. "Since half past six today I have the guard already at their posts, and the men of Logistics have been working all day to get their barracks in order! They don't need your help!"

The vice admiral sighed heavily, and leaned back against his chair. "All I know is that something has to be done about this…"

More silence at this. Without another word the vice admiral took up a blue envelope from the heap on his desk. A single flick of the letter opener and his fingers drew out the letter from within.

Instead of reading it aloud, however, he scanned it briefly then offered it to Australia, who stood closest. Her eyes widened as she comprehended the order written.

"Two girls," Dalrymple quietly said. "Two among you must leave us to go north."

"But sir, this must be some kind of mistake…" Hobart nervously ventured. "Why us? Why not Singapore?"

"The fleet isn't going to Singapore. They're going further north, possibly to the American base at Luzon."

"Luzon?" The eight looked at each other, confusion all over their faces. "Why Luzon, sir?"

"Just my guess, but that isn't the point now. The fleet is approaching steadily right now, and I suggest you make your way to the piers if you want to see your old sisters… in fact, so do I." Gone was his furious demeanour – in its place the calm solemnity. But his tone was no less chilly.

The eight girls – Australia, Melbourne, Hobart, Perth, Sydney, Canberra, Albatross, and Vengeance – saluted in unison, turned about, and filed out of the room.

* * *

"Permission granted to enter the bay, Warspite!" Ark shouted.

"Roger that! Yellow section will form perimeter," Warspite commanded. "Green section will form the centre!"

The three destroyers set off forward with the two cruisers, Berwick and Penelope sandwiched in the middle. On the flanks the destroyers activated their sonar. Slowly, the fleet passed through the heads.

South-west now, following the line of red flags and buoys along the coast that traced the route to Garden Island, the Royal Australian Navy's base in Sydney. Indeed, the base at Garden Island was perhaps the largest of all Commonwealth bases in the Southern Hemisphere.

The British girls sailed amid the growing dusk once more. But this time they could spot the familiar signal lamp in the distance, spelling out their welcome with each blink.

Only a small group were there to greet them as they landed at the northernmost pier. There wasn't a single guard in sight, and no man manned the anti-aircraft nests.

"Warspite! What a surprise!" A commanding girl bearing long brown locks strode forward, holding out a hand to Warspite.

Warspite took the hand and shook it. "It's good to see, you, Australia. Where's old Daltry at?"

"Right in front of you," said the bearded vice admiral, stepping out of the shadows with a small laugh. "Welcome to HMAS Kuttabul, Warspite, Ark," nodding to the carrier. "We shall get you unequipped inside, I think. My girls will lead you there. Hobart! Sydney!"

"Sir!"

"Kindly take Warspite and the other girls to the arsenal and assist them in any way possible. If you will, ladies, I shall see you later in the mess hall. I must go and see to your accommodation." Dalrymple saluted, and with nods of acknowledgement from the new arrivals, turned on the spot and left.

The two Leanders led the fleet down the quayside, along an ingenious line of indigo lamps that served to provide light while also being undetectable at long ranges.

They reached the arsenal. No workmen came to assist them, for there were none present. Instead, their Australian friends helped them.

"I don't suppose it's their day off?" Berwick remarked casually.

"What's that? Oh, the workmen," Sydney sighed, twisting her amber locks nervously. "They're off for the weekend. Most are with their families, in the 'burbs."

"No-one on duty?" Lion whispered to Ark quizzically. "Strange customs, eh?"

"Remember your experience," Ark sternly muttered back. "You've a lot to learn about the world yet, Lion."

Lion shut up. Ark cast her eye over the Australian cruisers. They were dressed informally; both wore loosened white-collar shirts, knee-length skirts and short black stockings. It was in stark contrast to the British girls' neatly cut and trimmed uniforms, every button done up and every shoelace tied the same way.

"Are we all done?" Hobart piped up, as everyone hung up their harnesses and kit in lockers. "Right, let's go!"

"Excitable, aren't they?" Penelope remarked as they set off again in the blue-lit darkness.

Cheviot ran up beside Hobart and tugged on her sleeve. "Miss, miss, is Warramunga still here?"

"Why yes, little one. And your name is?"

"Name's Cheviot, miss, and these are my sisters, Childers and Charity." Cheviot's sisters nodded and smiled. "What about old Nestor and Nizam?"

"Oh, they're off at Base West, I'm afraid," Hobart beamed. "I suspect they'll be on exercises now."

"Aw, that's a shame. Would have liked awfully to see them again…"

The light cruiser laughed. "Well, I'm sure Warramunga, Arunta and Bataan would love to see you. But the day is late, and I think you are quite hungry, hmmm?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

They reached the mess. Inside, they hung up their hats and caps on the coat hooks and went inside.

An overwhelming roar of welcome greeted the British girls as they entered the mess, as sailors and guards rushed forward, eager to welcome the new arrivals or to just simply shake their hands. Beer pots were thrust into their hands (and cordial flasks for the destroyers) without much care.

Slowly, the British girls nervously walked through the crowd, shaking hands with jubilant personnel. For the many in the fleet it was a welcome sight, but for Penelope and the destroyers they felt only fatigue as they almost fought to keep up with their comrades.

"Alright, alright, now," came a commanding voice, reaching high above the clamouring men. "Hands off our old friends! I'm sure they'd quite like to sit down!"

Some of the guards remembered their duty and separated themselves from the crowd to keep them back. There, standing at the head of the officer's table, stood the Honourable Vice Admiral Dalrymple.

The British girls sat down gratefully, some still holding onto the beer pots they'd been given.

"I am most relieved that you all managed to reach us in good order," Dalrymple said, holding up his own beer pot in salute. "I am sure you are all very tired from your journey, but you must forgive our ways if we do not let you rest. But now-" At this Dalrymple downed his beer in one long swig, to the rising cheers of the sailors, "-now we celebrate!"

Warspite lifted her beer up, smiled, and wordlessly drank the rest of her pot in one. The others looked upon the froth on her lip, and wordlessly downed theirs as well.

* * *

_Notes:_

The songs used are _E papa Waiari,_ an old "stick game" song, and the second is the more well known "Maori's Farewell", otherwise know as "Now is the Hour".


End file.
